


Burn Me With My Secrets

by orphan_account



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Industrial Revolution, Alternate Universe - Magic, Blood Magic, Body Horror, Consensual Sex, Drama, Dysfunctional Relationships, Gen, M/M, Mild Gore, Original Character(s), POV Multiple, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-02-22 15:18:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 79
Words: 92,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2512391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was an understatement to say that the Magical Restriction Laws caused unrest and outrage when they were passed by the Craftian government several years ago. But the creation of the Magic Police and their strict enforcement of the new laws reduced the rioting to nothing. The Undesirables have been locked away, and members of that special force have moved on to other departments and positions. All but two, that is.</p><p>There is little need for the Magic Police now. </p><p>Unless the mysterious figure who attacks people in the night and leaves them dizzy with blood loss is actually practicing one of the forbidden dark magics prohibited by the law. The city is full of people weaving the stories of their lives, and not all intentions are good, especially when the police are distracted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lalna, first day, fourth hour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LanternWisp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LanternWisp/gifts).



Fifteen years ago, it was easy to see the sun shining through the thin spaces in the perpetual blanket of clouds that lay over the city of Craftia. Now, however, the smoke pouring from scientific laboratories and industrial factories had created a hazy veil of smog between the structures and inhabitants of the city and the sky far ahead.

And during a rainstorm like today, the sun was nothing more than a distant memory. People carried on their business and activities, merely dampened by the inconvenience of the weather. Umbrellas, hats, and magical spells warding off the damp were plentiful among the citizens of Craftia.

Lalna held a small metallic umbrella over himself, walking past the many groups of people clustering in the second level of streets in the general commerce district of the city. The road he walked was suspended over the ground story streets and businesses and shadowed by the third and fourth levels of buildings, walkways and bridges connecting the city in a web of metal, wood and stone. Lights on the streets and at the shops added to the potpourri atmosphere of the city, made of fire, electric light bulbs, and glowing magical pulses. On all sides, shops for furniture, jewelry, enchanted weapons, food of all cultures, simple and complex machinery, fuel, and more attempted to lure passersby to their doors.

These temptations and wonders meant nothing to Lalna. He had lived in this city since he was born, and he knew how it worked, from the screws holding the monolith clocks together to the sunstones dotting the ceilings of witch and mage houses, providing them with a source of natural magical light.

They were all constants and controllable variables in the lengthy but predictable equation that was Craftia.

And those variables that believed themselves to be uncontrollable were the drive behind his motions now.

Without breaking stride, Lalna arrived at a semicircle cobblestone clearing before a large multistoried building made of large grained stone, dark red brick, and decorated in elegant sheets of twisting and curving bronze. Stone and bronze statues were nestled among the symmetrical structure of the building, bordering reinforced glass windows and jetpack stations nearer to the roof of the building.

There was no sign indicating the purpose of this building. There was no need, as the banner of Craftia’s government hung beside the banner for the law enforcement at multiple places on the front of the building.

Lalna lowered and closed his umbrella as he neared the building. He stepped on a pressurized plate before the large bronze doors and they swung open with soft clicks, remaining open until he had passed through.

Inside, the painted ceiling depicting people locked in an epic fight against monstrous mobs towered high above the stations where troubled citizens of Craftia were interacting with the police force. This room was mainly intended for the general people, however, and the doorways and hallways along each wall of this entrance hall led to the specific departments of the law enforcement.

Lalna made his way towards a door set directly in the center of the back wall. As he passed the people, some of them recognized his uniform and spoke among themselves about it.

“--the Magic Police uniform, isn’t it--”

“--I wonder which one that guy is--”

“--heard they were the ones who burned down the menagerie in the cultural district--”

“--really?”

Lalna ignored the chatter, although it made him smile internally. He loved the attention and fear his uniform spread among the general public. It was a good thing that Sjin had impulsively decided to torch the entire building when they discovered that the owner and managers were researching necromancy in the hopes they would be able to resurrect an ancient bird.

Now those criminals were in prison, and their silly birds had been confiscated and handed over to the Magical Police as evidence. Within a day, the birds were either released, relocated, or destroyed, depending on whether any traces of magic were found on them.

It had happened before. And it would happen again unless they took those drastic measures to instill fear in mages and witches planning on delving into illegal magics.

Lalna paused in his steps, pulled a lever to open the heavier door, and entered a smaller room containing six identical elevators waiting to take policemen and detectives to their departments in floors both above and below. Lalna walked to the elevator with a sign that said ‘MAGIC POLICE’ and got inside.

Swiftly, the elevator raised him five levels and opened promptly in an office that was empty save for two people.

Lalna walked right past the woman sitting at the most organized desk in the room, along with the various empty, abandoned desks behind her.

Sjin spun around in his wheeled chair and held up a hand to halt Lalna. Lalna leaned his umbrella against the wall.

“I know what you’re about to say. I don’t plan on just wandering around the city chasing rumors or checking for permits either. Just give me a bit more time and I’ll know whether this new victim report concerning the,” Sjin made air quotes, “vampire is worth following up on.”

Lalna groaned and collapsed into his chair. “Vampires aren’t real, Sjin. It’s not our job to chase fake things.”

“No, but it gives us a legitimate claim for keeping the higher power spellbooks whenever the jerks in charge complain.” Sjin pointed out. When Lalna didn’t argue further, he pointed at the only wall that had windows. Between two windows were two neat lines of wanted posters. “But they can always look at those if they want to remember why they need us to be as powerful as possible.”

Lalna stared quietly at the collection of wanted posters on the wall. They were old, and all of them were irrelevant now. When the law prohibiting certain types of magic had been passed, and the Magic Police had been created, there had been conducted an intensive investigation on known and suspected users of the now-illegal magics. These suspects, called Undesirables, were then tracked down, one by one, until they were all either in prison or cleared of suspicion.

After that, the workload for the Magic Police was diminished. Now finished setting an example for practitioners for illegal magic, they had efficiently scared most of Craftia away from attempting it themselves. Detectives were reassigned and now only Lalna and Sjin were left. Well, them plus the secretary that the Chief of Police had appointed to them to ensure they were completing the necessary paperwork.

They didn’t take the posters down, or cross them out while they caught each Undesirable mage and witch. The faces still gazed accusingly at the two Magic Police every day.

“That’s all in the past, Sjin. There aren’t any Undesirable mages and witches anymore. Nobody cares about that.”

Sjin shook his head and returned to his work. “But take a moment to consider the possibility that the vampire might be practicing illegal rituals. Some of the people who claim to be victims say they don’t remember anything. It might be voodoo witchcraft.”

“Guesswork upon hypotheses for only a portion of shaky claims, Sjin,” Lalna muttered, getting up and wandering around the room, looking for anything else to do.

“You’ll be thanking me for this someday.” Sjin said stubbornly.

“If that’s the only thing you were planning for today, then I suppose I can just go out and walk around the city.” Lalna said. He let out a short laugh. “Maybe I could talk with the Undesirables and see if they know anything about vampires. Since, you know, the others had the books on illegal magics burned two years ago.”

Sjin smiled tightly. “Do you think that was a bad idea in hindsight?”

“Of course not. There are fewer sources for them too. How many people could be hanging onto information on vampirism, blood rituals, voodoo, and all that highly illegal stuff?”

Sjin thought about it. “Upper class collections? Underground libraries? Covens? We only burned the public resources, Lalna.”

Lalna walked back towards the door.

Sjin shouted after him, “It’s only going to take me a few more minutes to finish this! I have a more specific place that the vampire is likely to appear in!”

“That’s boring,” Lalna waved at him from across the room as the elevator door closed and he ascended to the topmost level of the building.


	2. Nilesy, first day, fifth hour

Nilesy had been surprised when Lomadia agreed to allow Clyde to stay in the second shed behind the shop. She had even helped him convert it to a stable for the white horse. Since then, he wondered if that was because riding in Clyde’s cart--painted and occasionally filled with goods from their flower and plant shop to sell in the larger open markets and raise awareness of their wares and location--was a slightly classier method of transportation than she previously used. While it did not bring them to the same level as the upper class citizens who traveled the city in closed carriages pulled by more horses, or those few horseless vehicles that poured pollution into pedestrians’ lungs, it was several steps above flying on broomsticks and walking.

He didn’t question her motives on keeping Clyde, though. She enjoyed grooming him as much as Nilesy did, after a day of tending to the plants and working in the shop. Their garden full of magical and non-magical plants and flowers, plus the small stable and path around the garden for Clyde to wander in, was one of the few lovely natural places left in Craftia. There were of course other gardens and parks for the inhabitants to see and enjoy, but both Nilesy and Lomadia enjoyed being able to sit in the dirt and feel the life of the plants in their hands.

And the wards against pollution damage that Lomadia bought when they began their garden definitely helped to keep the air quality perfect.

Clyde was laying down in his stable today. When Nilesy had arrived at his stable, clad in his raincoat, to clean it and let him out into his path, Clyde simply refused to leave. Nilesy guessed it was because of the rain--perhaps a thunderstorm was on its way and Clyde didn’t want to be out on the streets when that started. It meant that he would be staying at the shop with Lomadia today, taking turns between manning the front and tending to the plants in the garden.

Nilesy was currently sitting on the cherry wood stool outside Clyde’s shed, reviewing the progress of the normal side of the garden. He had picked all of the ripe fruit that morning when he came down from his rooms above the shop, just as Lomadia checked on the magical plants that were best picked at daybreak. Those products were now either waiting in the shop for customers or safely tucked away in the cellar to be made into various food products or packaged uniquely as magical items.

Clyde raised his head within his shed and stood up. Nilesy twisted around on the stool.

“Hey there, Clyde. You ready to come out?”

Clyde made no motion to leave the shed. He turned around and began eating some hay.

Nilesy shook his head. “Prepare to have quite a workout tomorrow. You can’t just hang around in your shed all day. You’ll get fat. And you look pretty with all the flowers behind you on the cart.”

The rain was drowning out most of his words, spoken softly to his equine friend. Nilesy glanced briefly upwards. “Guess I’d better get back to work so that Lomadia can have her break too,” he said to the horse.

Nilesy slid off the stood into the soft, damp earth. He climbed over the fence separating Clyde’s grassy path and the slightly disorganized plots of plants, and stepped onto the stone path that led to the building and moved through the center of the garden, back into the warmth and dryness within.

He shed his wet boots and raincoat, leaving them near the small fire at the hearth in the kitchen. This was a small room, with two doors on either side of the hearth. One revealed a staircase that led upstairs to Lomadia and Nilesy’s rooms, and the other was also a staircase that twisted down to their cellar. There was a small oven in the cellar as well, but it was very rarely used. On a day like today, the cellar would be unbearably cold and damp. Lomadia would end up bringing the produce up into the kitchen to finish the work with them while she stepped out of the shop for the afternoon business.

The rest of the kitchen was unimpressive. While more herbs and spices were hanging in baskets and on strings from the ceiling, giving the appearance of a small forest growing upside down from the rafters, the cupboards, pantry, table and two chairs were certainly standard as befitting two unrelated people operating a business together and living in the same building.

Nilesy crossed the cool stone floor of the kitchen to a door leading to the shop. A pair of shoes laid next to the step up to the shop, and Nilesy quickly slipped his feet into them and unlocked the door with a key.

The shop felt very much like entering the garden again, but this fake garden was controlled and organized into divisions that would be easy for customers to locate items they needed or wanted. Flowers, both magical and non-magical, adorned the area near the doors, open to the outside even on a rainy day such as today. The full glass walls at the front let in as much light as possible, and sunstones were fixed in the ceiling to aid further inside. Potted plants took over the center of the shop after the flowers, filling up much of the space with a rainbow of greens, yellows, blues, reds and browns. Along one wall ran jars of dried and fresh spices and herbs, for medicinal, magical and culinary purposes. Along the other wall were jars of preserved fruits, vegetables, and various other concoctions. And here, in the back, were the more unusual magical plants and derivatives of plants. Lomadia was here, sitting comfortably at the desk and labeling a cluster of mandrake roots stuffed carefully into jars.

“You certainly took your time,” she commented, retaining her comfortable position on the padded chair.

“The raindrops were singing the song of their people,” Nilesy informed her, picking up one of the mandrake jars and reading the label. “I thought it only polite to stay and listen.”

_Common Mandrake, mature._  
 _Harvested midnight, 15th night of Honey Moon._  
 _Raised on site._  
 _Rose Blossom Florists._

Nilesy picked up several more labeled jars and carried them over to the shelf with the other mandrakes. He placed them behind the older jars, taking care not to accidentally push one off the shelf entirely.

“If it was such a lovely song, then perhaps I’ll have a listen while you’re closing up shop this evening,” Lomadia said.

“You could take Clyde out for an evening stroll while you do that,” Nilesy suggested. “He’s still inside his shed. I think he’s boycotting the mud after he got so dirty last time it rained.”

“He smeared so much mud on both of us that I got the impression he enjoyed that,” Lomadia murmured. She set the last mandrake jar on the counter and got up to help Nilesy move them to their shelf.

“He’s spoiled.” Nilesy said. “His shed is right next to the belladonnas and the berry bushes. After smelling like flowery perfume all the time, he didn’t enjoy smelling like the dirty, wet sludge from the streets.”

Lomadia raised her eyebrows, smiling. “Is that really how he feels?”

Nilesy nodded seriously. “He takes great pride in his appearance, and his body odor is another part of that.”

“I think you’re overthinking this.”

“I recall you had a similar argument concerning Hoot,” Nilesy said quickly. He took a worn journal out from under the desk and recorded the new inventory for the mandrakes. He continued walking around the shop, counting items and marking numbers on various pages. “Something about him knowing that he was above tasks such as helping to clean up around the place.”

“And how is an owl supposed to clean up?” Lomadia demanded.

Nilesy hesitated, thinking about it. “Well, he’s your magic owl. You should know how to use him properly. I use Fishbone to help clean up.”

Lomadia threw a stub of a pencil at Nilesy from across the room. “Putting dishes in front of him for him to lick at isn’t using him magically, Nilesy!”

“He can eat things that other cats can’t. And he likes getting the dishes before we wash them.”

Lomadia sighed. “I’m going to take a break now. I’ll check on Hoot and Fishbone for you. I can bring you some tea when I come back if you like.”

Nilesy shook his head distractedly, continuing with his inventory. Rainy days tended to garner less business. After midday, only their regulars would arrive, and they all had their usual days of the week. Nilesy and Lomadia would only expect two more customers to come today, and one of them only ever bought bouquets of non-magical flowers, with a few fairy’s breath blossoms for their magical sparkling effect. The other was a witch who came to chat as much as he came to purchase magical ingredients.

But Nilesy still had at least three hours before they might walk through his door. He had plenty of time to catch up on the books in that time.

And maybe read a bit of the business news journal, just to see what was generally happening in the massive, convoluted city of Craftia.


	3. Lalna, first day, fifth hour

If Sjin wanted to chase after rumors, then he could have fun with that on his own. Lalna would much rather get information on illegal magic activity using his own methods. And he didn’t want to wait around waiting for reports of businesses operating without the proper magical licenses and individuals practicing magic without permits. He dealt with enough of that last week, and it just meant more paperwork that neither Lalna nor Sjin was willing to complete.

Instead, Lalna arrived on the highest floor of the police station and followed a short hallway to a heavy iron door.

Pushing it open, Lalna was greeted by a faceful of wind and mist from the rain pouring down on either side of the covered walkway he now stood upon. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and continued across the walkway as rapidly as possible to avoid getting soaked, as he had left his umbrella at the elevator when he entered the office minutes ago.

The walkway crossed high over a large open-air courtyard surrounded by trees and metal sculptures in which police officers spent smoke breaks and lunch breaks on normal days. Now, the pool in the center of the courtyard was overflowing with runoff from the open space and water was pouring noisily into the drains in a ring around the pool. Past the courtyard was a line of tall spiked fences, and a much plainer stone yard.

A building almost as large as the police station waited at the other side of the walkway. A pair of guards stood at attention just out of the rain and mist.

This was one of the two entrances to the Angel’s Keep Penitentiary. It was not the largest prison in Craftia, but it was possibly the most famous for the fact that it had never seen a successful escape attempt made by prisoners. Many had tried, and each failure just added to the powerful image that Angel’s Keep held over the citizens.

Lalna stopped and smiled charmingly at the guards at the entrance to the prison. “Hello.”

“Detective,” one guard, a younger man said in greeting. “Do you need to see the Warden?”

“If he’s around, yes.” The few times in the past that Lalna had visited the prison, the protocol had remained the same. The two entrance guards would call for two more guards to lead outsiders to the Warden, who would be either supervising the prison’s operations with a number of guards, or working in his office. Either way, nothing could happen in the prison without the Warden’s approval.

The guard pulled a lever behind him. His companion moved aside so that Lalna could get out of the weather.

“It might be a while,” she admitted. “There was a scheduled senior guard conference this morning. It should be done by now, since he doesn’t like us being away from our duties for too--” She broke off at a harsh glare from her partner.

“She means to say that we hope you’re not waiting for anything that’s very urgent, sir,” he explained.

“Huh. No, it’s nothing big. Just double checking something regarding some old prisoners.” He didn’t want to elaborate further. The guards looked like they would love to hear more, but Lalna made it obvious that he would not say anything else about his business being here by turning slightly so he could watch the rain coming down.

Lalna hated being idle. It was a waste of his time and his brilliance. He could be at home now, improving the flight suit, practicing more of the spells in the Artes Magikae book, or even spending his time progressing with his various whimsical projects. Waiting for people to grant him permission to act was frustrating, and it was one of the reasons he loved being a Magic Detective. He could act as soon as he wanted, and have the bureaucrats and public relations employees explain the justification for it later.

Although, he and Sjin had started to see a slight decline in the freedom their small department had been granted in the past. It might be a good idea that Sjin was so determined to find a magical law the ‘vampire’ was breaking, so there could be another big spectacle to prove to the bureaucrats and the Chief of Police that the Magical Police needed freedom to operate properly.

The door was still shut. Lalna fought the urge to sigh loudly and roll his eyes by mentally recounting the steps he had taken so far to rebuild his flight suit.

Eventually, a pair of guards opened the doors and Lalna left the horrible weather behind him.


	4. Lalna, first day, fifth hour

The Warden of Angel’s Keep Penitentiary had received it from his grandfather approximately twenty years ago. Besides the twenty years as Warden, he spent seventeen years prior as a prison guard and senior guard, having applied as soon as he was old enough. He was not nearly as harsh as his predecessor, and instead trained more capable guards to ensure the security of the prison. Clearly it had worked, even with the addition of many of the Undesirable magical criminals several years ago.

As always, the Warden was professional, but just as eager to be moving and working as Lalna. When he entered the Warden’s office, the Warden quickly dismissed his guards.

“Alright, Detective,” the Warden said, in a tone that might have been misinterpreted as cold and uncaring. “What’s your business here? I haven’t heard about any new magical criminals since the menagerie fools.”

“It’s not about a new criminal,” Lalna explained. Neither of them had sat down yet, and Lalna was sure neither of them had any intention to do so. “It’s about some of your old ones.”

The Warden scowled. “What? So you want to set up another interrogation with someone?”

“It doesn’t have to be a formal interrogation. I can just stand outside their cell and talk to them like that.”

“Hmm,” the Warden pressed his lips together tightly. “Depending on who it is, I’m not sure I can let you spend as much time as you might need. I assume you’re getting information that can help you in some current case?”

“Yeah,” Lalna admitted. He might as well just say it. “I think it would be best to talk with some of the Undesirables.”

The Warden frowned. He began pacing across his office, decorated with items and pictures collected during both his time and his grandfather’s time. “Some of them are fine to speak to, for a limited time, of course. But even for a Magical Detective such as yourself, I cannot allow access to a certain number of them. You do understand--maybe better than most people--that some of them are just too goddamn dangerous for anyone carrying a magical item or possessing even moderate levels of mana to approach.”

“So it would be impossible to see all of them, even if I wasn’t carrying any of my spells and weapons?”

“I’m afraid your mana is simply too strong to risk some of the Undesirables seeing you. Not to mention the fact that they’ll flip their shit when they see you.” The Warden shared a knowing look with Lalna. “You and your division are the reason they’re here, after all. There’s only one guard I allow to interact with any of the Undesirables, and he’s a confirmed squib. No mana or magical potential whatsoever.”

Lalna crossed his arms stubbornly and frowned. “So how many can I speak to? And how soon?”

The Warden hesitated. “I can allow you to meet most of them, actually. It’s just, we don’t know anything about some of their weird magic types. You know what I’m talking about.”

Lalna was quite sure he knew exactly to whom the Warden was referring. There were a few mages and witches who were the most difficult to track down and apprehend, whose faces on the wanted posters seemed to leer tantalizingly down at the Magical Police division for months.

The older man kept talking, “Quite honestly, I’m sure most of them still have solid plans on how to get their magic sources and spells back. Even after years of mostly good behavior, I’m still waiting for the day they tear this place down from the inside out.”

Lalna gave a short laugh. “Oh, really? You think they’re that much of a threat?” Ignoring the Warden’s frown, he continued, “If they had any magical power at their disposal, don’t you think they would have done something instead of sitting here feeling angry and frustrated for this long?”

The Warden remained unconvinced. “It still makes me uneasy having them here. Especially that one that you--”

“Whatever.” Lalna said dismissively. “Can you give me a list of the Undesirables who I can speak with, then?”

“Sure.” The Warden paced across the room to his desk, and shuffled around until he had a list of names. He found a pen on the desk and crossed out a few names on the list. Lalna drew closer to the desk to get a quick look and deflated a small amount at the first name that was crossed firmly and deliberately out. After checking over the list carefully, the Warden handed it to Lalna. “Are you done then?”

Lalna was thoroughly disappointed. It might have been too much to hope that he would have unlimited access to the criminals he had helped to bring to justice. It would be best to look back over the names on the list and figure out which mages and witches wouldn’t be a waste of his time to interrogate. Also, he might as well find out what Sjin had been busying himself with.

“Yeah, that’s it. I’ll probably be back either tomorrow or the day after.”


	5. Rythian, first day, sixth hour

Rythian could still feel the magic. Magic was everywhere, in the stones of the city and in the depths of the earth and in the breath of life. His magic was still with him. Despite having been stripped of his rings, his philosopher’s stone, and his klein stars, he was still brimming with power.

All he needed was something in which he could work the magic, concentrate it into something usable.

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Rythian reached into his pocket and withdrew his lifestone. His clothes and his lifestone were the only things he was permitted to keep when he was imprisoned without a sentence, and he had been informed by the single guard who came down here that he was allowed those only because the Magical Detectives permitted it.

Rythian glared at the bars of his cell.

Damn the Magic Police. Damn Lalna. Damn the stupid and utterly pointless reason he was stuck here, with only a lifestone to remind him of the incredible power he once held.

_“From henceforth, the practice or intent to practice any and all forms of the following magics shall be prohibited by law…”_

Rythian leaned back, gripping the lifestone tightly and feeling its power wash through his body, keeping it strong and awake and _alive_ and _full of hate_.

Even after thirteen months, the hatred was there. The anger still burned as fresh as it burned when he was betrayed, time and time again.

After all, there was not much to do while you were confined in a cool, dark cell with no sunlight, no news, and no visitors except the single guard who brought his food and water and sanitary items.

Nothing but remain strong and feed the anger with promises of how he would retaliate when he had his freedom.


	6. Lalna, first day, sixth hour

Having returned to the top of the police station, Lalna’s eyes flickered between the elevator which would lead to the transportation station within the building and the elevator that would lead back to the Magic Investigation department. He didn’t think he had spent too much time at the prison, but Sjin had mentioned that he was close to finishing his task.

He could venture out into the city himself. According to the police news journal he received and skimmed every morning, the most recent “vampire” attack was near the new Cathedral in the middle class district. Sjin would have probably already looked over the primary investigative report filed by the officers who took care of the shocked and terrified woman, and he most definitely would have figured out if the attack had any legitimacy to it, but Lalna himself didn’t.

Sometimes he wondered how the stakes would be different if he approached them a different way, but he never regretted his choices. If he didn’t know as much as Sjin did about the attacker, that just meant he could perhaps reach a different conclusion and encourage more discussion.

It was a fair strategy.

Lalna headed for the transportation station.

The attendant was drinking something apparently very hot when Lalna entered. He got up out of his chair quickly, spilling a few drops on his hand and wincing. A few more golden drops splattered onto the small mountains of paper on his small desk. Behind him were shelves and racks and hooks and small powering stations filled with various forms of transportation. There were rocket propelled harnesses and shoes, small and large mechanical gliders, magical levitating platforms, very small personal vehicles, and an open door revealing a room beyond, which was filled with even more, larger vehicles.

“Detective!” The attendant said a little too enthusiastically. “Do you need your magical air sled, or your rocket shoes?”

“I’ll go on the rockets,” Lalna said. He didn’t need to bother with being stealthy on the silent air sled if he wasn’t actually pursuing a known criminal. He just needed to get over to the cathedral without having to deal with the street traffic. “Just send the release form to Mrs. Theodosia. She’ll take care of that, as usual.”

The attendant nodded, moving to a rack of rocket footwear and opening a box nestled between several pairs. He retrieved two devices that were not so much shoes as attachments for the high quality mage’s boots that were a part of the Magic Detectives’ uniform. Lalna took them from the attendant, sat down on the long bench along the wall containing the elevator and an extraordinary amount of informational and wanted posters, and buckled the machines securely to his lower legs.

“So,” the attendant said in a conversational tone that made Lalna inwardly cringe, “I guess you’re backing up Detective Sjin? He came by for his rockets about thirty minutes ago.”

Lalna looked up from where he was testing the straps on his right leg. “Did he mention where he was headed?”

The attendant bit his lip, and then shuffled through the top few papers on a stack on his desk. “Uh, he might have said where in the form he--oh, he only did half of this. I guess I’ll send it to your secretary with yours.” He read over what was written. “He said he would be taking them to the fourth trade district and areas… I suppose he means the areas around it. He didn’t finish filling it in.”

Lalna nodded. “Okay.” The fourth trade district was mainly comprised of permanent businesses and vendors that provided basic necessary goods and services to the people of nearby districts, along with a small entertainment hub. One district bordering that area was the place in which the last vampire attack had been.

It was noisy and cluttered, but if Sjin took his rockets and if he was using them as often as he liked to in previous cases, it wouldn’t be too hard to find him.

“Thanks,” Lalna added, standing up and returning to the elevator. It took him down to the ground floor, whereupon he walked out into the rainy courtyard and took off into the air.


	7. Strife, first day, seventh hour

Will Strife sat in his chair at his desk, surrounded by black and red and gold, the paragon of power and true confidence. A recording of a young male singing played faintly.

The young woman was uneasy in his presence. While she was dressed smartly in a light beige suit and her dark hair was styled in one of the latest fashions, she shifted often in her position on the plush sofa, and she was hesitant to make eye contact with Strife. She held a small valise which she had not let out of her hands since entering the mansion. Her fingers traced the zipper along the top. She had not yet touched the coffee that Strife’s manservant had brought in the moment Will sat down.

Strife was beginning to regret humoring the message he had received last week informing him that a serious customer who wished to remain anonymous [for now, at least] would be sending a representative with a request and an offer. The fact that this woman seemed unprepared for the welcome she received meant that her employer likely had no idea of the true might of Strife Industries. Which meant she had another idea of his work and his prices. Which meant that Will was likely facing several weeks of negotiation with a person who clearly wanted to remain anonymous.

He might as well work with this for now. Professionalism was an important part of business, but so was making the customer as happy as possible. This woman must be happy and comfortable as a proxy.

Once the song was over, Strife smiled and leaned forwards in his chair, placing his arms comfortably on his desk.

“I’ll stop the music now, if you’d like to get to business.”

“Ah, yes.” The woman met Strife’s eyes, then looked down at his desk. “Well, I should probably just--ah…” She bit her lip and unzipped the valise.

Strife watched her every motion as she withdrew a piece of paper. There was something written or drawn on the other side.

The woman set the valise down on the sofa, stood up, and walked up to Strife’s desk. She set the paper down.

Strife examined the paper. It was a wanted poster; one detailed with a visage that he had not come across for at least a year. Indeed, the last time he saw that picture was hidden away within the upper class newspaper, in a small column informing those who had more of a voice in Craftia that the menace had been efficiently dealt with and there was no longer anything to worry about.

This was the wanted poster for Rythian, the Ender Mage.

Strife raised a single eyebrow. “Rythian. The Undesirable Ender Mage. He was taken into custody by the Magic Detectives approximately thirteen months ago, if my memory serves me correctly. There hasn’t been any word on whether he was executed or relocated or anything. A lot of theories were flying around the city back when he was arrested, but then again, there was a popular theory that Rythian was just government propaganda to keep mages in line.”

“Yeah,” the woman said, staring at the drawing of a young man whose lower face was covered by a cloth mask. Even as an image on a dated propaganda poster, Rythian still managed to look impressive and imposing.

Then again, whether Rythian was real or not, he was still a tool that had been used by the government to frighten the people away from delving in forbidden magics.

The woman walked back to the valise and brought it forwards, holding it firmly in her hands as she began talking. “My employer has a special interest in Rythian. I came to ask, on my employer’s behalf, that you retrieve Rythian from the Craftia prison and deliver him safely to a location that will be provided at a later date.”

Her posture was stronger now. She gazed evenly into Strife’s eyes, waiting for a response.

Strife honestly was not expecting anything like this. “You want me to free a criminal and help him escape the city?”

“Yes. That’s right. I have two nether stars as a partial front payment. If you complete this, I will bring four times this payment.”

With those words, the woman placed the open valise down onto Strife’s desk. Strife pulled the edges open further and saw the claim to be true. Two nether stars rested securely inside, a little larger than a fist and shimmering with gold and white light .

Strife’s mind was racing. This customer had definitely done their homework, even if they were unprepared for Strife’s presence. If there was anything that could tempt a businessman, even one who refused to delve into magic, it was impossible-to-find items such as these. In the past, Strife had encountered amazingly brilliant ideas for advanced technology, but the original scientists had hypothesized that the best source of power would be these near-mythical nether stars. To have two of these things here, and with the promise of eight more…

But.

But this was a request that would involve directly opposing the government, breaking into a _prison_ , of all things. Strife had broken the law on numerous occasions for very good reasons [some of them being for money], but this was on another scale. He would have to be extremely confident of his methods. First, he needed to ensure that Rythian was where he was rumored to be, and then he needed to make certain that the breakout would be completely unnoticed.

Strife had another concern. This customer might be lying about the additional eight nether stars. While he did not doubt the possibility that some person who had devoted endless time to finding rare items would have ten nether stars to spare, it was odd that this customer would be all too willing to offer them for a single person.

Strife would have to look back into the resources he had gathered concerning Rythian and Ender magic.

But, for now...

“I’ll accept your request. I assume that I will have all the time I need to prepare for this?” This job was certainly feasible. And he really wanted those nether stars.

The woman seemed relieved. “Yes. We will keep in contact, Mr. Strife. When you have Rythian, we will send another four nether stars, and then the last four when we have him safe with us.”

“That’s fair.” Strife smiled easily. “Do you have an address I can send my messages to?”

The woman nodded and glanced at Will’s pen and the paper. He pushed them towards her and she wrote an address--surprisingly one within the city--on the back of the wanted poster. “The person living in at that place can contact my employer quickly. We can’t give you too many answers, but--”

“That’s completely fine,” Strife assured her quickly. “I’m not in the business of asking questions. I’m in the business of providing solutions.”

The relief on the woman’s face was so, so satisfying.


	8. Sjin, first day, ninth hour

Sjin stood on a damp stone carving positioned halfway up the side of a large theatre building. He was shielded from most of the rain by an even larger stone statue several feet above his head, but the mist still made the stone slick enough that Sjin would be concerned if the mage’s boots weren’t enchanted to prevent slips and falls.

He surveyed what he could of the restaurants below, which all clamored for the attention of those who entered and exited the theatre, one of the most popular forms of entertainment around the middle class districts.

“What am I even looking for?” Sjin muttered, glancing from the streets to a weatherproof map of the district and several surrounding districts, marked with stars and circles. A star for the places where the victims of the vampire claimed they were at before they encountered the vampire, and a circle for where they ended up. Each star and circle pair were marked with the initials of the victims.

It had appeared that many of the stars were clustered around this district, so Sjin had originally considered that perhaps someone in this fourth trade district was choosing their victims here and transferring them to other locations in hopes of evading suspicion.

But now, faced again with the sheer size of the district and the mass amount of people who regularly visited and worked here, Sjin was beginning to feel overwhelmed.

The vampiric attacker had no preference for male or female, young or old, rich or poor, powerful or weak. Few of the victims even knew of each other, and none of the other policemen could find any link between them. Some offered descriptions of their attacker, but none of them were the same, or they were just too vague to be a dependable link.

Sjin folded up the map and stepped off the carving, starting up his rockets and flying over the streets towards the nearest police depot. As he passed through the rainy skies, he repeated his findings to himself.

“Let’s see here,” he said, watching the ground absentmindedly, “The earliest confirmed case was five months ago. An elderly couple believed they hurt themselves falling somewhere at night, but the medics reported major blood loss from both. It was written off as a curious mishap, but since then, the attacks have been increasing in number. Last week, there were three people who claimed to have been attacked on different days. Only one of them has a medical report to confirm right now...” Sjin trailed off, locating the building he wanted below and hovering lower and lower to land gently.

He landed just to the side of the door, which was propped open to the street. Sjin wiped his face and hands dry of rain with his enchanted uniform, which instantly rid itself of the water, and entered.

The small depot was surprisingly busy, considering only three officers were in sight. A crowd of civilians waited impatiently at the reception desk, talking amongst themselves.

“--what they’re doing about the attacks--”

“--really valuable, actually, and I want to know someone is looking--”

“--missing since last Thursday--”

“--he’s terrifying! And I don’t want him near--”

Sjin had intended to ask for the local officer, but it seemed like it might be a bad time. He headed for a frazzled-looking older man who had just finished speaking with a foreign couple.

The policeman recognized Sjin’s uniform and relaxed visibly. “Detective, it’s honestly a pleasure to see you. You’re here about the lady who showed up on the Cathedral, right?” He hesitated, and added, hopefully, “You _are_ investigating the...uh...weird magic user who’s been abducting these people and relocating them, right?”

Sjin nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I’m here for. Were you one of the people who found her?”

The other man shook his head. “I wasn’t the one who found her, no. A group of people on their way back home from a pub came across her and reported it to us. My friend over there is who was one of the first officers on the scene.” He gestured to a middle aged woman trying her best to look patient as she helped the receptionist take care of the civilians’ concerns.

“If she isn’t too busy, could I speak with her for a moment?” Sjin asked. “It won’t take too long.”

The officer bit his lip, but moved over to the policewoman. They interacted for a short moment, and finally she strode briskly over the Sjin.

“I already submitted my report to Headquarters,” she said, eyeing Sjin with a mix of concern and curiosity. “Was there anything wrong with it? I made sure to include everything.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Sjin said quickly. “I just wanted to know if there might have been anything the young lady said, or how she acted, that seemed a bit off? Some of the victims follow a pattern, and I want to be sure this is the legitimate attacker’s work, and not a copycat.”

The woman’s face grew dark. “You’re worrying about copycats too, then? Well, according to the people who found her, she was pretty delirious. Like she had been charmed. And of course, she was dizzy from bloodloss. I took her to a doctor personally and he confirmed it.”

“Where were the puncture wounds?”

She tapped her fingers on her arms for a second, thinking. Then she held up a hand and touched the center of her palm. “There was a small cut about here on her hand that I noticed when I was moving her. But I didn’t stay to hear about where the blood of it was bled from.”

Sjin cocked his head. “So the bleeding wasn’t from the cut on her hand?”

The woman gave a short laugh. “It was a little scrape. It was mostly healed up anyway. If she was going to bleed over half a liter of blood from that, it would have taken much longer than the three hours she was missing from her home.”

“I guess so. I’ll look over her medical report again when I get back to Headquarters.” Sjin shook the woman’s hand. “Thanks for your work.”

“Thanks for letting us know the Magical Police is working on this,” the woman said, breathing a sigh of relief. “It’s a bit overwhelming because there isn’t much of a pattern. All we can do is tell people to be careful at night.”

“Well, keep doing that,” Sjin said, turning to leave. “Protect who you can.”


	9. Lomadia, first day, tenth hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
>  Whenever I look back on my stuff, I'm always convinced it's terrible.

The rain had ended a while ago, but it was already late in the day. Sitting comfortably in the well-worn saddle, Lomadia maneuvered Clyde around puddles so as not to splash the many people on the street as they made their way to their homes after a long day of work. It had not been a busy day, and although Nilesy might encounter a few more customers as they passed by the shop on their way home, he alone would be enough to assist them with their wares.

Hopefully, he would be able to close up shop soon and start on their dinner. Lomadia had taken advantage of the midafternoon lull in business to travel several blocks over to a meat market to pick up some fresh fish. She knew two of the fish would be allocated as food for Hoot and Fishbone, and she had planned accordingly.

Lomadia had Clyde slow down, approaching a well decorated building constructed of a combination of stone and steel, and decorated heavily with marble. The sign was made of chiseled marble set into a rust-colored stone background.

H.A.T. CORP REAL ESTATE

Lomadia dismounted Clyde under a low roof and attached an enchanted lead to one of the narrower marble pillars outside the business. She walked up the short ramp to the double oak doors. Electric lamps hung on either side of the entrance, shining a merry yellow into the gradually darkening streets.

Turning her eyes downwards, Lomadia found the pressure plate that would open the doors automatically and announce to the businessmen that they had a customer. It was cleverly worked into a pretty welcome mat, and she stepped squarely onto the center.

On cue, the doors swung silently open, revealing a beautiful wooden and marble lobby. The abnormally small room was decorated with two large paintings on either side wall, sealed from disrepair and bad weather with a complex charm. These paintings were a set, one showing a young man receiving gifts and blessings from some sort of deity, and the other showing the deity tearing large pieces out of the man’s now developed life. A rug designed with an elaborate scene of wolves chasing deer covered the floorboards from wall to wall. More electric lamps hung from the ceiling within, which was wooden as well, but carved to resemble a skeletal tree’s branches.

A door directly opposite the entryway opened as soon as Lomadia stepped into the room and the doors behind her shut. Trottimus, the shortest of the three men, strode out, wearing a smart white suit. He was followed by two others, Alsmiffy, a ginger haired man in a dark blue suit, and Ross, a black-haired man in a black suit.

“Miss Lomadia,” Trottimus greeted.

“Welcome back to H.A.T. Corp.” Ross said.

“What may we do for you today?” Alsmiffy said.

Lomadia glanced at the door they had come through. “Seeing as I’m a repeating customer, can I get out of your welcome room?”

“Why of course, of course,” Trottimus said, moving aside. He pushed at the other two. “Come on, lads, let the lady inside.”

“Alright, miss. You’ve seen all we have to show and tell.” Alsmiffy walked around behind Lomadia to give her some more space to move through the small room.

“We can get on to business right away.” Ross waited against the wall as Lomadia followed Trottimus through the smaller door.

They entered another room with a few soft armchairs and a little penguin in the corner, and passed through without stopping to a doorway on the right wall. This room was as decorated as the first room, with much more space for customers to feel more relaxed. Lomadia smiled briefly at the penguin as she walked past him, but didn’t hesitate in her pace after Trottimus.

“In here, Miss Lomadia,” Trottimus said, stopping once inside the next room. The same electric lights hung here, but fitted into a small chandelier fixed into the ceiling. The ceiling was otherwise bare of decoration, but the rest of the room more than made up for it. Marble pillars filled some of the empty space along the walls and throughout the room, and stone statues, oil paintings, and small tapestries covered most of the rest of the wall space. A large map of the city also hung at one end of the room. A large rug ornate with thousands of expertly woven geometric twists and angles lay on the floor.

As always, it almost made Lomadia forget she was in a building with absolutely no windows. Several of the upstairs rooms had windows, but H.A.T. Corp never let their customers up there.

The chairs and sofas were in the center of the room for the customers’ use, but Lomadia ignored them. She wouldn’t be here too long anyway.

“What brings you here today?” Alsmiffy asked, waiting while leaning against one of the pillars.

“I’d like to purchase another passage for two outside of the city, using your magical linking book,” Lomadia said.

“Oh,” the three chimed almost in unison.

“Seeing as you’ve done that before, you know what that costs,” Ross said.

“Yes, I do, and yes, I’ve brought the proper payment,” Lomadia said. She refrained from touching the spot on her bag where she kept her money. H.A.T. Corp knew where it was anyway. “When are the evenings available?”

“Ah, that’ll be the day after the morrow at the earliest. We’ve got to get the tower on the outside sorted out,” Trottimus said, pacing a little where he stood. “You do want the earliest date, correct?”

“Yes. Both Nilesy and myself will be ready then. So, just like the other times--?”

“Same rules apply,” Alsmiffy said quickly. “You still have the little book we gave you?”

“The rule book, that is,” Ross clarified quickly.

Lomadia bit back a smirk. Yes. She had their rule book about hiring them to assist with less than legal activities, and the book of obligations she received with the deed and license to her and Nilesy’s shop, as well as the three amateur pornographic novels they had handed her the first few times she came to do business.

“I’ve near memorized the book at this point,” she assured them.

“How convenient for you,” Trottimus said with a smile. “Then, if you’re in a hurry, we can sign all the documents--”

“--that we may have to burn in a fire later--” Ross said softly.

“--for official purposes, of course--” Alsmiffy added.

“--and you can come back at our little secret door on the roof on your witchy broomsticks in two days,” Trottimus finished. He moved off a looping design on the rug upon which he stood so that Alsmiffy could pull out a wand that briefly glowed with silver light and tap it onto the design.

A trapdoor opened directly in the rug and Ross swiftly jumped down into the dark hole beyond.

There was a loud thud and an “Ooh, shit!” from the hole. Alsmiffy, Trottimus and Lomadia leaned over the hole.

“You alright down there?” Alsmiffy asked Ross, who was a little farther down in the hole than was probably safe to jump. Ross looked up with a strained smile.

“I’m still on the company clock, so I get compensation for injury--”

“No time for idle chitchat, Ross,” Trottimus reminded him. Ross disappeared from view. “We’ve got a customer who wants some swift service, not you complaining about your broken appendages. Just get the forms.”

Ross appeared again and began climbing up a ladder set into the wall of the hole. He held a piece of paper attached to a clipboard in his hand above his head as he ascended.

Trottimus took the clipboard from him as soon as Ross was high enough. He took a pen out of his suit pocket and wrote quickly on the form, then handed it over to Lomadia.

“Quiet little trip for two out of the city, no questions asked. Three diamonds, same price as before.”

“Good season for secret journeys,” Alsmiffy commented to Ross, who was pulling himself up out of the hole. He touched the trapdoor with the silvery wand again and it became a normal rug once more.

Lomadia took the clipboard, scanned over the familiar writing, and signed it at the bottom. She handed it back to Trottimus and reached into her bag for the little box of diamonds that she and Nilesy had been growing in the magical garden beneath their normal garden. Lit by magical sunstones, it held some of the plants that were more than a little illegal according to Craftian magic law. Taking out three, she handed them over.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Lomadia said. “See you in two days. Tell Nano that I’ll be bringing her something nice.”


	10. Parvis, first day, tenth hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to slow it down with the updates after this chapter.

Parvis was carving a new sigil on one of his many blank runes when Will Strife burst into the underground room. Parvis set down the rune and looked over his shoulder at the man who was now scowling and squinting around the room.

“Damn it, Parvis, why can’t you get better light in here?” Strife muttered. He leaned over a chest waiting near the door and rummaged around. “I give you torches, glowstone lamps, electric lamps, oil lamps, light bulbs with batteries.”

Parvis got up from the station he was working at to look over Strife’s shoulder. “But I used the glowstones, Strife! I used all of them.”

“You used them to build more columns around your silly fake magic altar, Parvis.” Strife shot back.

“It’s not fake.”

“They were intended to keep you from bumbling around in the dark and so you don’t get rats and ghosts and who knows what else down here in your fake magic cellar. I didn’t go out of my way to bring you glowstones so you could get more fake magic for your blood.”

Parvis watched as Strife took out a few oil lamps and shoved them in his direction. He took them from his lover and quickly moved around the room, hanging up the lamps, but not lighting them yet. “But Strife, it’s way cooler being in a dark evil-ish cellar. You said you like cool dark things, didn’t you?”

“I like cool dark things when it’s an intentional part of the architectural design, not when it’s because some dumb wannabe mage forgets to light up a perfectly nice brick cellar. I swear, sometimes I think stalactites are going to start growing in here.” Strife sighed heavily. “Don’t you notice the complete lack of light?”

Parvis shrugged and reached into his pockets for his lighter. Strife was already approaching each of the lamps, lighting them with his own lighter.

“Do you want to know what I’ve been doing?” He asked, hoping for a confirmation.

“No. I need you to help me find some things.”

Parvis’s curiosity was instantly piqued. “What things?”

“Just some books or news resources. Also, I’ll have to access the police library for some confirmation.” Now satisfied with the amount of light, Strife was wandering along Parvis’ work benches, looking over the various sigils, bloodstones, and general clutter that never seemed to leave, no matter how much Parvis tidied.

“What do you want from the police?” Parvis asked. He paced back and forth past his work as well, mentally going over the last time he was asked by Will to borrow a book from the police library. It had not brought him any trouble. He had simply entered the library in a fake uniform, informed the clerk at the front that he was looking for a partner, retrieved the book, exited with a random hypnotized policeman, and deposited said policeman near one of the constant traffic arguments.

He could use the same tactic, or a similar tactic this time.

“I just need you to see their records from about a year ago. The information I want will probably be somewhere with the arrest records and legal investigative records. I need to find out where a criminal is being held.”

“Ooh, which one?” Parvis said, occupying himself with reordering the completed sigils on one of his work stations. These were elemental sigils, that one was the important one, that one was the one that Strife was mad about--

“That Ender mage. You know, the one who was on their Undesirable list two years ago.”

“Ender magic? I don’t remember that one.”

Strife was standing in front of Parvis’ altar now, making a disgusted face at the dried blood in the basin. He quickly walked away from it and returned to the door that led upstairs. “They didn’t share too many of the details with the general public, Parvis, but they shared their reasons for concern with the upper class. Mainly, the people who were sponsoring the Magic Police with technology and advanced magic. It’s all political, but you don’t care about that.”

“So what’s so special about Ender magic and this Undesirable?” Parvis asked, following Strife upstairs and passing through the secret door into the stairwell that led to the wine cellar directly below the blood altar.

“From what I recall, Ender magic involves creating a link with another dimension called the End and drawing power for magic through that. The politicians and opponents against it all thought that Ender mages would open a door to that dimension, and repeat the chaos that Nether portals cause. I think that Ender demons come from that dimension too, so they were all afraid of what might be unleashed.” Strife groaned in frustration.

Parvis considered this. He had never heard of Ender magic before. It all seemed a little too unrealistic. “How would a person even make a link with another dimension?”

Strife threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t know! That’s all I remember from the idle gossip from the past. Maybe when you meet Rythian, you can ask him all about his magic, if it’s not complete and utter bullshit.”

Parvis froze for a brief moment, then dashed after Strife again. “Wait, we’re meeting him? I would have thought he’s in jail.”

“That’s what you’re going to the police library for, Parvis,” Strife explained. “I need to find out where he is and get him out. For a job.”

Excitement flooded through Parvis. The blood of mages and witches was extraordinarily powerful, and he would love to have the chance to test out even a small portion of this new type of mage’s blood. Maybe he could even convince this Rythian person to willingly participate in a few harmless rituals. Maybe Rythian would be impressed by his skill over such a complex type of magic.

“Who is the client?” Parvis asked. Perhaps there were other Ender mages who worked with Rythian, who had been working to free their companion.

“Some person who wants to be anonymous. They pay nicely, though, so I won’t dig into their side if they’re so nervous about being discovered.”

“All right then.”

They had arrived in Strife’s study and personal library. Bookcases lined the walls from the floors all the way to the ceiling high above them, which was made of carved wooden pieces in an elaborate design of blooming flowers, eagles with their wings spread in flight, and snakes with their jaws wide. Several ladders were attached to the bookcases, and Strife made his way towards one, pushing it along the bookcase until it reached the end.

Strife climbed up the ladder and paused when he was halfway up. He motioned for Parvis to come closer.

“Catch these when I drop them. Do not ruin them.”

Parvis got ready. “Are they fragile?”

Strife looked down at Parvis incredulously. “No. Why would I throw you a fragile book? They’re news journals. I just don’t want the spines breaking and getting everything out of order.”

“Okay, Will. I’m ready when you are.”

Strife tapped the backs of the journals, humming softly. Parvis smiled. It wasn’t a tune, but it was the same repeated notes that Strife hummed whenever he forgot Parvis could hear him. He would have to make a song with those notes in it someday. Then he could sing it for Strife and then Strife would record it, like he always did with Parvis’ songs.

A book fell and Parvis expertly snatched it out of the air. He examined the cover.

“Oh, Strife,” he sighed. “This is just the gossip paper. I thought you hated it.”

“I do hate it.” Strife said, removing three other books from the shelf. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not a resource that I have to consult.” He dropped the others together and Parvis managed to grab them before they spiraled away from each other.

“You think that posh fool chatter from a year ago will tell you anything about Ender mages? It’s all a load of garbage, Strife. Both of us know that.”

Strife climbed down the ladder. “For every hundred wrong theories, there might be one conjecture that is at least borderline correct. It will give me a better idea of what I can expect when I meet him. It’s what I’ll be occupying my time with while you’re finding a way into the police library again.”

Parvis left the news journals with Strife and wandered around the circumference of the room, brushing his hand against the wooden shelves. “It’s going to be with the Magic Police stuff. Any details on how they arrested Mr. Endermage, any details on his trial--if he got one--and any details on where he was moved. Basic stuff.”

“The location of his prison and cell is important, Parvis,” Strife emphasized from where he leaned against the ladder with one of the journals open in one hand and the rest in his other hand. “There are, after all, two prisons in the city, and I don’t want to end up planning a heist for the wrong one.”

Parvis chuckled a bit. “A heist? Is that what we’re calling this?

Parvis almost laughed out loud at the complete regret that took over Strife’s face.

“No. This is not a heist.”

“You’re too late, Strife! You said it and now it’s official, confirmed by me. It’s a heist. Steal the rare and valuable Ender mage from the unsuspecting police! It’ll be in all the papers when they find out. Or maybe not, to keep people from panicking that there might be a dangerous practitioner of evil magic roaming the streets. Along with the vampire that’s scaring everyone.”

Strife shut the books and glared sternly at Parvis. “About that. Aren’t you getting a little too enthusiastic and showy about your magic games?”

Parvis shook his head. He was fully aware that what he was doing was highly illegal. He was careful about the locations from which he snatched unwilling volunteers, and he was always certain to place them back within a few blocks of where they ‘disappeared.’ The hypnotism spell he was using was solid, and it took very little effort to convince the victims that he was a vampire and that they didn’t see his blood altar.

From the reports that had been published in the newspapers, nobody had remembered an altar, so as far as he was aware, the Magic Police still did not suspect there might be a blood mage within their walls.

Plus, he was still very aware of how much blood was safe to take from the people. After a number of incidents early on in his exploration of blood magic involving Strife locking Parvis in his suite with his personal chef and doctor looking after him for days, Parvis had learned the safe amount of blood that could be drained from a person. That is, the maximum amount he could get and still be sure they could operate somewhat normally. He might have been pushing it recently, but that was only because he was making so much progress and he _needed_ just a bit more.

“Will, you know me! I’m careful.”

“The problem is, I know both the careful Parvis, and the Parvis who is going crazy with his magical playtime in his brickbox.” Strife opened a drawer in his desk and left the news journals within. “I’m not going to lecture you about it, because I know you’ll just end up doing whatever the hell you want.”

Strife looked like he wanted to say something else. Parvis waited patiently. It really was amazing that Strife had supported him so far. He complained about it and reminded Parvis that the cost of the resources he was asking for was coming out of his paycheck, but in the end, he was always there for Parvis. And in the early days, he was the one who dragged Parvis out of the room to eat and sleep, and he was the one who reluctantly allowed his blood to fill the basin when Parvis was creating the first sigil and bloodstone with the weak blood orb.

He would never admit it, but Parvis was sure that Strife trusted that Parvis was being more careful.

Instead, Strife said, “Dinner should be ready soon. I told Titus to leave me alone for the evening, but he’ll be upset if you’re late for another meal.”

Strife would be upset too. Parvis followed his lover out of the study and began to occupy his mind with plans for infiltrating the police library again.


	11. Lalna, second day, second hour

_Rythian sits cross-legged in front of the complicated circle on the floor. He calls the sheet of stone the circle is drawn on a transmutation tablet._

_He looks at Lalna, who is kneeling beside him, and holds up his philosopher's stone in one hand, and points at it with the other. The fabric around his lower face moves slightly as he speaks._

_“The philosopher’s stone doesn’t really have any power on its own,” he explains, because Lalna always wants the explanation. “It’s how you use it. It’s like a promise that you know what you’re doing, and that you’re not going to do anything that violates the laws of equivalent exchange.”_

_“So it’s like a key, then?”_

_“Yeah, you can call it that. Here,” Rythian hands the stone to Lalna, who takes it reverently. He shuffles on his knees over to the black chest beside the transmutation tablet. He takes out a recently killed pigeon which Lalna grimaces at, then follows up with a handful of sticks. “This is sort of basic, but it’s one of the best ways to understand the process. Also, working with simpler things means you’re less likely to mess up and end up with a lot of magical residue hanging around, or a hundred things that you didn’t want.”_

_“Couldn’t you reverse the process and turn the stuff back into what it was before?”_

_“It’s a mess going the other way, Lalna. You don’t want to make alchemy too complicated, or you’ll make a mistake. Especially when you’re a beginner,” Rythian says. He places the pigeon and the sticks on the transmutation tablet. “Now, these things all have value, but there are a lot of little factors that make it different each time. The age of the item, where it lived while it was alive, or where it was taken from when it was collected if it was never alive.”_

_Rythian takes the stone back from Lalna and holds it securely in his hand. It might be a trick of the morning light, but Lalna thinks he can see some sort of purple light in the red crystalline stone._

_“What now?”_

_Rythian smiles. “Now the fun alchemy happens. You take your philosopher’s stone and--”_

_The purple light shines brighter in the stone and Lalna blinks and tries to move so he can see Rythian again..._

_...They’re alone, somewhere in the city, late at night. Illuminated by faint lights from the streets and buildings nearby, Lalna can see that Rythian is glaring, hate in his eyes. The dark scarf around his face has slipped a few inches and blackish purple veins can be seen, a contrast to Rythian’s brown skin, pulsing along with the dark energy collecting at Rythian’s short blade._

_Lalna lets out a merry laugh. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ A fight? Really?”_

_Dark purple clashed with light blue, both lighting up their surroundings and casting them into shadows._

_Lalna keeps reaching for Rythian, but small bolts of white lightning and blue flames keep spilling out of his hands, burning and destroying everything in sight._

~~~~~~

Lalna woke up with a start, and stared evenly at his ceiling for a minute. Finally, he rolled out of bed, determining that an occupied mind was the best solution to a dream like that.

A dream like that could be welcome when it was reliving some of Lalna’s favorite memories, but when it ventured into some of the steps he took to progress to where he was, he could live without it.

Lalna stared outside. It was still dark. He didn’t want to go back to sleep. He was already awake. Finally, he set off towards his kitchen. He was fairly certain he would have at least two hours of work on his various personal projects waiting around his home before he would set off to actually try to work with Sjin today on the silly vampire case.


	12. Parvis, second day, fourth hour

Strife grimaced at Parvis when he emerged from his suite after breakfast. “Good Notch, I forgot how creepy you look in that uniform, Parvis.”

Parvis grinned, striking a pose in the perfect replica of a police officer’s uniform. “Is this reminding you of your dirty little uniform kink, Strife? Naughty, naughty. Can’t let the servants see you looking at it like that.”

Flustered, Strife struggled with forming words for a few seconds, allowing Parvis to laugh at him. “I--I do not--you know what? I’m not going to--I’m not allowing you to provoke anymore reactions out of me. Now… just… get out of that before someone sees it and starts gossiping.” He took a deep breath, pointedly avoiding looking at Parvis. “We don’t need people talking about you playing dress up.”

Parvis shrugged and leaned against his door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, do you think it’ll ruin your pristine reputation? Will Strife, amazing CEO and lover of Parvs in unif--” Parvis was cut off as Strife clapped his hands over his mouth and began steering Parvis back into his rooms. He flailed around, pushing back against Strife, but the man was determined.

“Just--” Strife growled. He had Parvis halfway through the door now and his eyes briefly shot to the side as they both heard voices echoing from down the hallway. Strife’s voice lowered in volume. “Just wait. Wear something normal, and I’ll drop you off closer to the library.”

Now inside the suite, Parvis wriggled away from Strife when he had to take one hand away to close the door. “Don’t go too close to--”

“I’m not an idiot, Parvis,” Strife shot back, letting Parvis dance away from him as he made sure the door was secure. “There are plenty of empty places I can stop at. And before you ask, I’m not planning on taking any of the nice, lovely pretty vehicles. I know how to be inconspicuous, to both outsiders and the staff.”

Parvis headed back to his bedroom. He left the door open so he could talk to Strife, who was probably still listening for anyone coming down the hall. Meanwhile, Parvis found his clothes from the morning still in a small pile behind the partition. He bent down to pick them up. They weren’t quite as warm from his body heat anymore, since he had taken some time to admire how the uniform looked in the mirror.

“Do I have to call you to pick me up like last time?” Parvis said, loud enough so Strife could hear him. He began to take the outer layer of the uniform off, but he would keep the trousers and undershirt so he could change faster.

“No. I’m going to send Chef Micajah to the market closest to the police library. You know which one it is. It’s the one with the vendor who always brings his damn dairy cows with him. Chef’s going to stay in the market until you arrive, then he’ll take you back home.”

Parvis was relieved. Last time Strife sent Parvis to the library, he was called away to some Strife Industries stupid tomfoolery about business and money or whatever and Parvis had to use his emergency transmitter to get Strife to send someone to pick him up. When he was finally back, Parvis had spent most of the day in the uniform, and he had not been very pleased about it. Strife mostly made it up to him, but it was still an instance that Strife had been less than perfect, which Parvis was delighted to hold against him.

“You’ve got this all figured out, don’t you?” Parvis said admiringly. “You’re so smart, Will. Of course, I’m super smart too, cause I’m going to get _all_ the information that you need. And I’ll do it all without anyone realizing I’m not a real police guy.”

“Oh yeah, it takes a real genius to walk into a building,” Strife murmured faintly. Parvis scowled.

“You just wait,” he called back. “I’ll get everything you want to know about undesirable mages and secret evil prisons and the filthy Magic Police, _and_ I’ll do it in record time.”

Parvis emerged from his bedroom, changed and carrying the uniform shirt. Strife sighed, took it from his hands, and folded it neatly before handing it back.

“If you’re ready, then let’s go. I told Titus to have the carriage ready.”

Strife left the room, and Parvis was close behind. Following the perfectly symmetrical layout of Strife’s mansion, they passed under tall carved ceilings and arched hallways leading to stairwells and more wings of the house. Years ago, when Parvis first moved in with Strife, he couldn’t help but stare and be amazed [and a little nonplussed] at the seemingly endless stained glass decorations, old and new tapestries, dark red curtains at doors as well as windows, armor collections on display, paintings, priceless works of art. It was all comfortably familiar to Parvis, even if he had only lived with Strife for a few years.

With his free hand, Parvis tapped the weapon holster at his side, covered partially by the casual shirt he had put on over the uniform undershirt. As long as he was careful about using the disguised magical pack around others, it would be the perfect hiding place for the copies of the documents and map he planned to make and take at the library.


	13. Sjin, second day, fifth hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel awesome because I just remembered that I bought raspberries, so here is another chapter.

Sjin had not been expecting to find Lalna at the office before him. Lalna often lost track of time while working on his personal projects and would arrive at an average of an hour after Sjin, completely unhurried. Of course, there were times that Lalna was on time, which were usually when they were working on a hot case. But this vampire case only had a few general locations where victims disappeared and appeared. There were no solid leads, no solid evidence, only a vague pattern, and definitely no suspects yet. Although it was gaining notoriety, Sjin didn’t quite consider it hot yet.

He definitely hadn’t been expecting Lalna to have interrogated several Undesirable mages and witches on the subject of vampirism and forms of magic requiring a considerable amount of blood.

Lalna was rocking dangerously in his chair, rereading his notes in a small leather-bound book.

“There are a few possibilities, Sjin,” Lalna said, leaning back precariously before landing the chair on all four legs again. “Voodoo, dark coven witchery, blood magic, mage arts involving a dark nexus, witch summonings--actually… yeah, most big witch summonings involve a sacrifice. I’m not sure if the sacrifice lives, though, so we’ll have to investigate that further.”

Sjin frowned at the list. “That sounds like a lot of illegal stuff. Should we consult the police records?”

Did the police even have records of the potential atrocities of illegal magic anymore? Sjin doubted it. But he knew of at least one alchemist who sided with the Magic Police when the law was passed, who had provided resources to aid them in their pursuit of practitioners of illegal magic, and who most likely still possessed some books on contraband topics.

Lalna tossed the notebook at Sjin. “The baddy witches and mages didn’t give me any names, Sjin. They just taunted me and threatened me and told me that it would be a great thing if we were murdered by the vampire.”

“I can imagine why they might feel that way.” Sjin said. He opened the notebook and skipped ahead to Lalna’s last entry, close to the back cover.

_blood loss result from using dark nexus_  
 _not terribly vampirey_  
 _presentation style? - weirdo mage compensating for small penis_

“I’m thinking Kirindave might have something that might help us narrow this down,” Sjin added, closing the book and throwing it back to Lalna. The other detective could elaborate more on his discoveries when they were actually researching.

“Shall we go to the troubles of getting a warrant, or should we just show up there and ask nicely for him to surrender his library?”

Sjin paced, thinking. Kirindave had been fairly cooperative with them in the past, but Sjin was entirely confident that he had another hidden library somewhere full of books that he didn’t want the Magical Police finding. “I do want to search there today, but we might have to wait a few hours after we give him a bit of warning. Just so he can hide anything he doesn’t want us to see and maybe he can locate some material we’ll be needing ahead of time.”

Lalna rose up from his seat and made for the elevator. Sjin noticed that he was wearing his rocket propulsions on his legs. Sjin personally had forgotten to return them to the transportation garage yesterday evening. “Did you get those this morning?” Sjin asked, looking at the rockets.

Lalna looked around to see what Sjin was indicating, and said, “Oh. No, I picked them up yesterday. I was looking for you, actually.”

Moderately exasperated, Sjin ran a hand through one side of his facial hair. “Lalna, I told you: if you had waited two more minutes, you would have known exactly where I would be investigating.”

“I went to the cathedral place.” Lalna said, moving aside in the elevator so there was room for Sjin. “The place takes up a whole block, and the streets surrounding it are well lit, even at night. Either the attacker left this new victim while moving inconspicuously along the road, or the vampire flew her there, dropped her off, and flew away.” The elevator rose upwards to the roof level.

“It still doesn’t narrow things down much,” Sjin said. “You would think that someone’s seen at least this vampire’s figure or bits of his face.”

“How many victims have there been?”

“Fourteen are definite victims of our vampire, eighteen more are suspected victims whose stories just need confirmation, and we also have nine who claim to be victims, but haven’t agreed to police questionings.” Lalna’s eyes widened slightly in shock. “Yeah,” Sjin murmured. “It’s actually crazier than I first thought it was. No doubt there are more victims who haven’t said anything. We also can’t rule out the possibility of some missing people being victims.”

The elevator had arrived at the roof. Sjin stepped out first and Lalna was close behind. The weather was quite humid after the rain that soaked Craftia yesterday. The sun might have been shining through some clouds above the smog, but it was still cool enough to keep the humidity from becoming uncomfortable. Sjin knelt down to activate his rockets.

“Man, that’s kind of scary.” Lalna said slowly. “We can’t prove the thing with the missing people, but it does make you wonder just how long this has been going on. It may have been going on a couple years ago when the Undesirables were still loose.”

They both switched on their short-range radios so they could talk during the flight. Sjin hesitated. They still hadn’t confirmed where they were going first. “To Kirindave? Or somewhere else?”

“Uh,” Lalna trailed off. “We can swing by and tell him he’s got two hours to hide anything he doesn’t want us to see. Then we come back just before the time is over, and you’ll have a warrant by then in case he whines about it, right?”

“Wait, then why don’t I just stay here and work on getting a warrant?”

Lalna pushed off the ground and his rockets instantly fired, holding him steady in the air. “We need to intimidate him together, Sjin,” he explained, smiling. “Don’t you want to see Kirindave again and tell him how much the Magic Police appreciates his cooperation?”

Sjin mirrored the smile. Honestly, sometimes he wondered what being in the Magic Police had done to Lalna and himself. Before the law was passed, he was just an amateur mage. He had been working at a good construction company as an architect, designing houses, commercial buildings, and even some factories. And once the Magical Police was formed, he began to see the line between magic and science more clearly. He saw the wanted posters of the Undesirables and, for the first time in his life, he wanted to protect the integrity of the magic to which he was slowly becoming attached. He didn’t want magic to be a bad thing, so he signed up to eliminate the bad side of magic.

And somehow, that had morphed into something else. Being a Magic Detective somehow gave Sjin some power over all other mages and witches in the city. Somehow, Sjin now looked forward to instances in which he could reinstill fear and obedience into the minds of the magical community.

It wasn’t where he had imagined he would end up. But plans changed all the time, didn’t they? As a child, Sjin definitely never imagined himself as an architect, so going from a protector of the good of magic to a pursuer of the evil of magic should be no surprise.

As for Lalna…

Sjin didn’t know much of his past. But he too had twisted his ideals over the years of working in the Magic Police. When Sjin first met him, he seemed fairly idealistic, although he was occasionally rather obsessive concerning a few notable Undesirables. And then, once they were all accounted for, Lalna seemed to lose his passion and shifted his energies into finding enjoyment aggressively detaining less notorious magical criminals.

Sjin shook the thoughts from his mind. Lalna still wanted to set off now.

“We’ll just use the warrant from last week,” Sjin said. The warrant had been for appropriating magical items from a warehouse supplying the menagerie, but it was vague enough that it would be fine. “Just flash it at Dave for a few seconds, and he might be convinced.”

Lalna nodded, taking off eagerly in the direction of the aristocratic district, located behind the hub of government activity towards the east quarter of the city.


	14. Nilesy, second day, fifth hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, but the ones coming next are pretty interesting.

“So, Lomadia,” Nilesy said as he remembered an important detail about their planned activities. “I’m hoping that the idea this time is to close shop early today too.”

Lomadia paused in the middle of her task. She was pouring a potion to protect their potted plants from rotting and wilting into a small vial, hidden within a rainbow of colored glass shapes hanging from wires in the window of the shop. She turned her head back, confused. “Why are we closing up shop early today? It’s tomorrow that I got us a… um, short term business trip.”

Nilesy repressed a sigh. “Last time we went on a business trip, we only had an hour of sleep before it was time to open the shop the next day. I was not happy about that, if you recall.”

Admittedly, they took turns taking naps that day to make up for the loss of sleep, but it had been a frustrating day nonetheless. Half a dozen awkward teenage boys came by the shop asking for flowers to match their dates’ dresses or hair or personalities. There was some kind of dance later that night and the boys were desperate to make a good impression on the girls, even when they were likely already well acquainted. Sorting through all of the boys’ anxious stuttering about the dance and their utter lack of knowledge about flowers was exhausting on its own.

Lomadia seemed to remember that, however. “We can close shop early today, but one of us should use the excuse that we need to head to Sips Co. for more fertilizer to justify it to anyone who comes after we’re done.”

“Why don’t we wait until after we come back to run that errand?”

“Because,” Lomadia said, “I’ve been putting it off a bit too long and he actually sent us a letter about it this morning.” She waved a piece of paper at Nilesy, who walked over to her to take it.

“ _To the Owner-Operators of Rose Blossom Florists,_ ” Nilesy read aloud. “ _This is a reminder of the status of your order, number 37529, quoted as ‘five large bags of Supreme Deluxe Sips Co. fertilized earth.’ As requested, your order is waiting to be filled upon arrival at any of the main Sips Co. branches, listed here for your convenience._ Oh, Lomadia, it looks like his newest branch closed down.”

“Is that so? What a shame.”

“Yeah, it’s not listed anymore. Means that if we ever have to move over to the other side of Craftia, we’ll have to look for a Sips Co that’s a bit more of a walk away to get our free dirt.”

Lomadia chuckled. “Not completely free, Nilesy,” she reminded.

Nilesy continued reading. “ _Sips Co. is pleased to remain in good standing with your company, and we do expect that you continue to promote the products from our company in your business transactions,_ ” Lomadia laughed from across the shop. “ _We hope your business continues to thrive in this economy. Sincerely, Sips Co. Representative--_ ”

A new customer pushed the door open and Nilesy put the letter away in his pocket. Lomadia approached the customer amiably.

“Hello and welcome to Rose Blossom Florists. How may we help you?”


	15. Lalna, second day, sixth hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is out late. My wifi has been down and I'm at the library posting this.

The Police Library had formerly belonged to the government until the law restricting certain types of magic was passed. It was still a hub of information for the city, but only police officers and government employees were allowed unrestricted access. Because of this, public libraries had sprung up all over Craftia, giving citizens the opportunity to search for information without the government peering over their shoulder the entire time.

Still, there was a lot of information that could only be found at the Police Library, and could only be accessed by certain departments or certain government officials. This ranged from borderline illegal magical texts that had avoided being burnt during the purges to sensitive materials such as legal records and blueprints of various buildings.

Lalna didn’t expect to find anything of use in the library, except for a few books that might just confirm what information he had been able to force from several of the Undesirables earlier that morning. But Sjin wanted something that gave them clearer profiles to look for. Bloodletting and partial sacrifices had different requirements in different magical and witchy rituals.

Lalna looked at the tall bookshelves he was surrounded by and groaned. Getting information this way was so tedious. He wished that technology would find some way to give people information instantaneously, so this huge collection of useless books that might contain a shred of help would be rendered obsolete. Maybe he should spend some time figuring out how to do that himself, once he and Sjin caught the vampire.

Sjin paced back and forth a few meters away from Lalna, in and out of his sight.

“Vampires are probably real, Lalna,” Sjin said, probably feigning interest in whatever he was reading.

“Are they? What makes you think that?” Lalna asked, skimming some of the titles that he could read.

Sjin stopped moving and pointed at the cover of the large book he was holding. “About sixty years ago, there were a few vampires in Craftia who were caught. But it looks like they killed all of their victims. There was some sort of mass hunt for them and a few magic users who used blood and freaky nonmagical people were caught up in it all. The people who had substantial evidence against them were publicly executed over the course of three weeks.”

“Sounds pretty brutal,” Lalna said. “Does it say what kind of magical people they caught in the process?”

“Uh, well, not in this one. It refers to another book that has more details of the documented evidence and legal reviews of the suspects and convicted criminals.” Sjin turned to the next page and was dismayed at what he read. “Yeah, we need to find that thing it’s talking about in the footnotes.”

Lalna stopped looking. “Is that the same series that the police keeps adding new information to every week? The records for criminal profiles?” If so, they would find what they were looking for easily and the past hour they spent waiting in the Police Library for Kirindave to hide his things would not have been a total waste of time.

Sjin nodded his head. “It should be. They use a different name for it, but I can’t imagine what else ‘ _A Review of Criminal Annals by the Craftian Police_ ’ could be. I have the date. We can go down into the vault and see if the librarians keep the outdated records along with the more recent ones.”

Sjin closed the book and left it on a reshelving cart for the librarians to return it to its original place. Lalna was already off towards the stairway to the basement, wherein lay the ‘vault,’ which was simply a general term for the endless shelves of criminal records and profiles amassed by each department of the Craftia police since its creation.

It was another place that was far too cluttered for Lalna’s tastes. There were several part-time library assistants whose only job was to try to put together a directory of recurring criminals. After several months of work, it was still a very gradual progression.

“After we find the stuff we need, do you want to head out for lunch?” Sjin asked behind Lalna.

“Sure,” Lalna pushed open a side door marked with a sign that read ‘POLICE ACCESS ONLY’ and sighed in exasperation when he saw how dark the stairway was. He raised his hand and a small needle of bright blue light shot out towards the ceiling of the stairwell.


	16. Parvis, second day, sixth hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's another chapter, as a sort of apology for the lack of chapters yesterday.  
> :]

The chiseled stone basement of the police library was cold, dark, and thankfully empty when Parvis ventured down into it. The librarian-receptionist had only looked at his uniform when he entered the library and she didn’t bother to have him walk over to confirm his identity. Not that it would have been a problem, as Parvis would have been ready to charm her into forgetting all about his presence, and he wouldn’t even use any magic to accomplish that. Then again, Strife would break down into a nervous wreck if Parvis told him he spoke to anyone who might remember his face, so it was just as well that his entrance had been unhindered.

Parvis gazed at the dark wooden shelves holding so many years of criminal records. Down the main aisle that split the maze of shelves in half, he could see that new shelves were stacked near the second entrance on the far side of the room. Soon to be stocked with the coming weeks of criminal activities, written neatly down on paper and bound into books, they would soon add to the ordered clutter down here.

Luckily, the record book that Parvis was looking for was not exceptionally old. Also, luckily, the shelves had been neatly labeled with month and year. It still took a moment of wandering around through the shelves, but he soon found shelves marked with the previous year.

“One year, one month ago, would have been…” Parvis muttered, dragging a gloved hand through a thin layer of dust. “Grass Moon, Planting--there we go. And do they separate them by department? Let’s see… Magical Police is right… here!” He seized the thin book and smiled at how light it was.

Parvis hesitated. Would Strife want him to take all of the information on Rythian? It might be a good idea, especially if the Magic Police decided to chase after the mage again once he was free from prison. Taking their records on him might slow down their efforts. Also, Strife would understand that Parvis didn’t feel like reading everything right now. Reading boring things was something that Strife liked to do.

Parvis opened the record book, skipped past the first collection of documents on some Undesirable witch, and found the only other collection in the book.

UNDESIRABLE NO. 31  
ENDER MAGE  
“RYTHIAN”

Parvis carefully tore the documents out of the metal rings holding them in the book, rolled them up neatly, and slid them into his empty weapon holster.

“Got it,” he said to the empty room. “Now for the prison stuff.”

As long as the map of the library’s organizational system was still up to date, Parvis needed to move up to the second level of the library for that kind of really sensitive information. There was more of a risk that someone would notice that he wasn’t actually a cop.

But…

Parvis cast a sideways glance at the holster. Did the criminal profile say anything about where Rythian was being held?

Maybe.

Parvis reached down to unfasten the holster. As his fingers touched the strap, the door on the far side of the vault opened noisily. Parvis froze. A man’s voice echoed in the cold stone room.

“--going to have to carry back just _how_ many books of criminal profiles? We can just have them transported back to the station and you can read them, Sjin.”

Parvis listened curiously. Sjin? What a stupid sounding name. Hadn’t Strife said something about someone named Sjin once? Parvis couldn’t remember the context right now.

“Well, you got all that info from the Undesirables, so you can just see what matches up in this,” another voice chimed in. Was that Sjin? Parvis grimaced. His voice sounded stupid. “It’s just going to be a few minutes. Twenty minutes tops, then we can go get some lunch. And then we can raid Kirindave’s library for the stuff we really want.”

“I want to start hunting down this guy tonight.” It was hard to tell where the people were. Parvis quietly started heading back towards the door he had left just slightly ajar.

“Oh, Notch,” the person that Parvis assumed was Sjin said in dismay, “It looks like they just mashed all the departments together back then. Ah, I guess this might take a bit longer than twenty minutes. Sorry!”

“Just use a search spell.”

There was a dim flash of light from the opposite side of the room and Parvis quickly dashed back to the door and sped upstairs.

He would just find the prison stuff and leave. He didn’t need to stay here any longer than necessary.


	17. Lomadia, second day, seventh hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random OCs and appearance of some familiar faces, ahoy.

Sips Corporation held a monopoly over dirt and fertilizer production in Craftia. Over its years of operation the corporation successfully bought out its competition, prevented any new rivals from gaining their market, and convinced the city that Sips Co. dirt was truly the highest quality dirt to be found. As contact with the world outside the city was extremely limited, the people had to take what they could get.

And if the prices per kilogram had been slowly climbing as the bags of dirt and fertilizer changed sizes and designs--well, nobody had complained about it. It hadn’t been noted by the mass of citizens, anyway.

Lomadia and Nilesy were fortunate, however. As businesspeople who grew specialty plants and flowers as a living, they might have had to invest quite a hefty amount into purchasing quality Sips Co. dirt and fertilizer. However, Lomadia had secured a deal with Sips, the CEO, and they were able to receive regular amounts of Sips Co.’s finest fertilized earth virtually for free.

Well, it was more of a quid pro quo system. Lomadia and Nilesy provided things that Sips wanted, and in return, he gave them what they wanted. Specifically, high quality planting earth.

Lomadia was driving Clyde’s cart over to one of the major Sips Co. warehouses now, which was actually favorably close to the cluster of commerce in which Rose Blossom Florists resided. The horse still needed plenty of exercise, however, so she had taken the long route, passing by two of the city’s many marble fountains.

She could see the warehouse long before she arrived at a line of loading docks where she could leave Clyde and the cart.

“Hello there!” An elderly woman waved Lomadia over to an empty loading dock, low enough to accommodate Clyde. “You have a delivery or a pickup, miss?”

Lomadia gently guided Clyde to the location. “I’m here to pick up a special order. I’m here on behalf of Rose Blossom Florists.”

“You’ll want to talk with Mister Mordecai Hazard, my dear,” the woman said in a rehearsed--but still helpful--tone. “He’s in charge of special orders around here.” She sucked on her lip for a second, thinking. “But the big boss is here, so he might be a bit busy right now. Sorry, miss.”

Lomadia shook her head. “That’s quite alright. I’m sure I’ll manage.” She stood up on the cart, now parked alongside the loading dock. The woman climbed down a short ladder from the dock onto the ground. She took a long lead waiting at the side of the dock and fastened it to a large ring on Clyde’s harness.

“Thank you,” Lomadia said to the woman. She reached into her pocket and retrieved a small bronze coin. She set it down on a post next to the ladder the woman had used to secure Clyde and the cart, then set off towards a large opening. People were pushing smaller carts full of bags and crates of dirt and fertilizer in and out of the door, hounded on both sides by leery inspectors hunched over clipboards.

There were plenty of people coming to this warehouse who had brought with them a young child or servant to watch their carts while the older individuals made their purchases and exchanges within the large facility. Lomadia didn’t need that. The cart had been safe-locked, so to speak, with a meticulously designed ritual in order to prevent anybody from Lomadia and Nilesy from operating it. If anybody tried to move the cart, or detach Clyde from the cart, their hands would slip away as if they had been buttered on a very warm day.

Lomadia had thought it would be more fun to inflict a more severe punishment, and Nilesy would have been eager to aid her in creating it, but alas, they didn’t want to attract unnecessary legal attention.

As she dwelled on these thoughts, Lomadia had passed under the immense threshold and passed into the large sorting areas in the shipping and receiving warehouse.

Painted arrows and directions on the floor directed Lomadia along the familiar path to Mordecai Hazard’s busy booth. Once upon a time, the booth had only one service counter, and a sign hung nearby ordering all non-special orders to progress further along to deal with the main service center, but in the past few years, more and more people set up special orders with Sips Co. Most of these were just regular pickups, but they were still listed as special orders, as the bureaucracy of Sips Co. had not changed for quite some time. And unfortunately, this branch was rather popular for a great deal of the customers.

So, in the years Lomadia had known Mordecai Hazard, he had appeared to age at least ten years more than his actual age. Dealing in customer service with little assistance tended to wear a man out.

There was a bit of a commotion near the customer service booth. Lomadia narrowed her eyes, trying to pick out the cause of it all, when suddenly a grayish skinned man in a pristine white and blue suit stepped away from the crowd, followed by almost half a dozen personal security guards.

Sips. Lomadia wondered if she should call for his attention.

It turned out that she didn’t have to, as a frail young woman stepped out of the crowd soon after the security personnel, clearly trying to get Sips’ attention.

“Sir, you have an appointment in less than one hour, so--”

“Silvia,” Lomadia said. Apparently Sips had not yet fired his assistant secretary yet. Though, he no doubt fired the person in his main secretary position at least once a month. He probably forgot about the small Silvia.

Silvia twisted her head around and caught sight of Lomadia, smiling in brief relief when she saw her. “Oh, sir, Miss Lomadia is here!”

“Oh,” Sips droned, hesitating in his march off to Notch knows where. “What was it that I wanted to complain to her about?”

Silvia bit her lips and glanced down at the floor. “Ah, I believe you were not happy that she was behind in her pickup schedule.”

Sips marched over to Lomadia, who held her ground steadily. “Yeah, that. What’s the big deal, Lomadia? Here I am giving you the special stuff for free and you can’t even pick it up on time. You’re making all my workers complain all the way up the line of bureaucracy, and it gets to my secretaries, and they sometimes tell me.” He sighed. “I don’t want to hear about troubles. I just want to hear about things going right and making me money. You know, Lomadia, right? You run a business too.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I am here to pick up your supply,” Lomadia informed him. Neither of the two broke eye contact. “I’m sure your employees might be complaining about a tad more than my lateness, don’t you think so?”

Sips shrugged. “I don’t care. I don’t hear about it. In fact, I came over here to--”

“I’ll be bringing more of my ingredients in a few days,” Lomadia interrupted. Sips broke off. “Maybe in two days, if all goes well. You’re still happy to get them?”

Sips’ mouth cracked in a partial smile. “Oh man, you know what to say to a guy in a sour mood, don’t you? Yeah, actually, this place is going to be hosting a research and development team working out a recipe for a new type of the special stuff. So you just ask that guy at the counter for people who think they’re special over there--”

“You mean Mordecai?”

“Yeah, I guess, whatever. He’ll get it to my science guys that moved in here last week.”

That was convenient. Much more convenient than hauling the special products across the city, as Lomadia and Nilesy had done before.

The security personnel remained several meters behind Sips, along with Silvia. While the security had been trained and paid to keep still and silent, Silvia’s face was betraying her curiosity.

Lomadia felt something deflate inside her. It would be unfortunate if Silvia started looking into things she had no business being around. Lomadia and Nilesy might have to summon another thunderstorm or something similar, and there would be a small notice in one of the news journals a few days later to inform the public of a missing person.

Quite unfortunate indeed.

“You also need to talk to him about picking up your dirt. He’ll get one of the people burning daylight around here to move it into your cart.” Sips continued.

Lomadia smiled tightly and nodded. “I’ll be fine now, thanks. I’ll see you some other time, Sips.”


	18. Kirindave, second day, seventh hour

Every day, Craftia was developing and growing. New infrastructure was being built utilizing stronger metals and materials dug from industrialized quarries. Scientists were discovering new technologies that were being incorporated into buildings both new and old. This was something of an age of enlightenment, although the learning and exploration tended to concentrate heavily on physical technological advances, and not so much in fields of medicine, philosophy, education, and culture.

Not yet, anyway.

Kirindave had embraced some of these technologies himself. They were convenient and interesting, although he had other passions. Specifically, a passion for the various forms of magic.

Of course, he had to give up a sizeable chunk of his resources two and a half years ago when the Craftian government passed an extremely controversial law banning magics which a council had determined were ‘a threat to the well-being of the people.’

Honestly, the law made sense. Even the creation of the Magical Police and the legal allowance for the enforcers to use whatever means necessary to track down and either eliminate or imprison those who practiced dark magics.

Kirindave had found himself on the list of ‘Undesirable’ mages and witches when the list was first made public. As he didn’t want to lose everything he had become, he arrived at the station that day without any of his items or weapons, in a gesture of peace. He had offered to hand over whatever resources the Magic Police wanted to aid in their pursuit of the other Undesirables. They agreed and sent several members of their force to investigate his home. He received a special permit to continue practicing legal magic and witchery on the condition that he allow Magic Detectives into his home whenever they needed to use some of his resources.

It was the smart thing to do. And the Magic Police were an interesting group. Their magical power fascinated him. Even now, with only two active members, they were still more powerful than most mages that Kirindave had encountered in his lifetime.

Currently, Kirindave was pacing rapidly around his library, reminding himself where certain books of particular interest were located so he could point Sjin and Lalna in their direction when they came back on their ‘raid.’ Really, he didn’t mind having them over. They forgot to make their threatened ‘regular checkups’ while the mass of the force had their hands full with the other Undesirables, and now Sjin only stopped by on occasion when he and Lalna weren’t terribly busy.

_‘You have two hours to get ready until we storm your house and raid your secret library for contraband material, Kirindave!’_

Kirindave let out a short laugh. He didn’t have a secret library, unless you counted the books he definitely didn’t keep along with some potentially-illicit materials in the items that definitely were not a secret bag for mostly harmless magic, a secret cache of black magic, and a secret repository of dark magic.

Not that those books would do Sjin and Lalna any good. They were enchanted to only grant the owner the ability to read them.

And Kirindave had a feeling Sjin and Lalna would be arriving to look deeper into the mysterious vampire that was terrorizing people who were foolish enough to walk the streets of Craftia alone at night.

Soon enough, Sjin and Lalna knocked loudly on his door and Kirindave answered it with a friendly smile.

“Welcome to my home, Officers. Would you care for anything to drink or eat?”

Lalna shook his head. “No thanks; we just had our lunch.”

“Where’s your secret library?” Sjin said quickly, assumedly before Kirindave tried to distract them further. As if he had anything to hide. Besides the dark magic bags, which were in a locked chest in the middle of the fountain in his vast garden at the moment.

“You both have been here before,” Kirindave said, leading them further into his home in the direction of his personal library. “I have secret magic workrooms, which I’ve shown you several times. However, I don’t have a secret library. It’s much easier to find what I’m looking for when all the books are in one place.”

Sjin and Lalna didn’t look convinced. Kirindave continued, “I can find you the things you’d like to read. Or I can advise you, if you’d like. I have a feeling you might want to know about the menace that the people have dubbed as a vampire?”

“It’s not a vampire,” Lalna muttered.

They had arrived at the library. Kirindave retrieved a book from his shelf and showed it to Sjin. The title gleamed in well-maintained silver painted letters: _Applications and Uses of Human Blood in Magic and Witchery._

“We already have a few ideas about what kind of magic the, uh, vampire is practicing.” Sjin said, although he took the book anyway. “Lalna interrogated some of the Undesirables this morning about it.”

Lalna reached into one of his pockets and took out a small notebook. Kirindave hesitantly moved closer to Lalna so he could read his notes upside down over the top of the book.

“It’s not voodoo.” Kirindave said quickly. “There are too many victims, and it’s entirely random who the mage or witch targets. Even if they were trying to build some kind of mind-controlled following, they would pick a form of control more effective than voodoo for that.” Lalna flipped to another page. Kirindave hummed in thought. “When witches are practicing dark rituals that involve sacrifices, they usually end up killing their victims.”

“What if they found a way to keep them alive?” Sjin suggested. “Is that possible?”

Kirindave shrugged. “It might be possible, but I’ve never heard of it being done. There are plenty of alternatives for human sacrifices anyway, so I don’t know what kind of witches would risk being detained by the Magic Police to obtain and use them.” That might be something to look into. If enough blood was shed, could it be considered a sacrifice? And could the witch heal the victim enough to preserve their life?

That would make an intriguing future project. In the midst of all the vampire attacks, who would notice one or two missing people?

Lalna turned to another page.

_ɔıbɐɯ ʎdǝǝɹɔ ɥɔnɯ os ǝɹǝɥʇ sı ʎɥʍ_  
 _¿pooןq buısn ɔıbɐɯ_  
 _ʇɐɥʇ sı ʇɐɥʍ_  
 _ɔıbɐɯ pooןq_

Oh.

Kirindave allowed his mind to roam with the possibilities of some mage somewhere in the city reviving that ancient form of magic. Many older mages and witches had heard of it, but it was nearly impossible to build a fully functional blood altar with the proper connections with the old magical forces in the world. It required a large amount of effort, specifically bloodletting, to even begin to yield desirable results. The rituals were more powerful than most witchery rituals and they required little ingredients.

It was a dangerous and powerful path. It would be quite interesting if the vampire was actually a blood mage.

Lalna and Sjin had probably noticed Kirindave’s change in expression.

“Normally, a practitioner of blood magic would also kill their victims, seeing as it takes a lot of sacrificial rituals to build power,” Kirindave explained. “But if the mage knows what he’s doing and he’s not being wasteful, he might be able to work fine without killing his sacrifices.”

“Do you think this criminal might be using blood magic?” Sjin asked Lalna.

Kirindave gestured at the book. “That explains a bit about blood magic if you’d like to borrow it. It might be helpful.”

Lalna shrugged and took the book from Sjin. “It doesn’t really matter. No matter what magic armor and weapons this mage has, we’ll find him and bring him to justice.” He handed it back to Kirindave.

Kirindave fought back a smile at Lalna’s wording. “That’s an honorable viewpoint on your job. From the conversations I usually have with you, I got the impression that you were more interested in the glory and power of your position.”

Sjin and Lalna pretended to be outraged. “I can’t believe you would insinuate that,” Sjin gasped. “We’re here to make the world a better place.”

And they did a fantastic job of that by burning down businesses and displaying magical criminals in an enchanted cage in the center of Heart of Minecraftia Square while declaring crimes to the onlookers who would gather. Kirindave went to the square several times when the Undesirables were being detained, and several more times in the last few months, when less heinous witches and mages were apprehended. It was all propaganda, but it was still interesting.

Kirindave held out his hands peacefully. “Well, is there anything else you want to ask me?”

“Do you know any blood mages?” Lalna said sternly.

That question again. Or rather, another form of ‘Turn in anyone you know to prove that you’re still useful, Kirindave.’

“No, I’m sorry. I’ve only heard of blood mages who died or left the city long before the law was passed.” Kirindave said, making sure to add a note of regret in his voice. “I’ll keep my eyes open though, and if I see anything, I’ll let you know.”

“I guess we’ll be going now.” Sjin said. He shot Kirindave a sharp glare. “Let’s leave this ex-mage to his hopefully-legal business.”

They all knew that what Kirindave was doing was less than legal. But Kirindave still smiled back and walked them to the door, listening to their whispered beginnings of a new conversation with interest.

“So we’re probably looking for a blood mage.”

“They use an altar, right?”

“Altar and… runes around it. The setup can get pretty big. I’d guess the mage is hiding it underground somewhere.”

“But still in a place where they can bring their victims in and out quickly. Maybe somewhere with public access?”

Kirindave opened the door for the police, and they exited with more warnings, the same they had given him for years.

“Bye! Good luck on your mage hunt!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, seriously, stop looking for books and start actually hunting down the baddie vampire.


	19. Strife, second day, ninth hour

“For the love of--” Strife gritted his teeth and tried not to explode with another lecture that Parvis would inevitably interrupt or ignore. “You know how to sit at a table properly, Parv.”

Parvis was slouched messily in his carved, painted, cushioned chair to the left of Will at the end of the long table. Behind Strife, a fire burned quietly, warming the vast expanse of the large dining hall. Mounted bodies and skeletons of rare animals decorated the walls just below the arches that made up the ceiling. The last light of day was coming in through Will’s red, gold, and white stained glass pieces, set in geometric patterns in six places in the steel and stone roof. The main walls of the dining room were decorated by tapestry-sized wood carvings, painted with glowstone dust.

The entire room was beautiful. As with the rest of the house and the Solution Tower in the next district over, Strife had designed it himself. He oversaw the building process from the moment the workers began digging to the moment the last of the decorations were placed. He took great pride in everything.

And Parvis, as he often did, was ruining the aesthetic. Well, maybe he wasn’t ruining it. But he wasn’t appreciating it right now.

“Oh, listen to Mister Will Strife!” Parvis muttered darkly. “Parv went and put himself in a dangerous spot to get you some special documents for your special job to get some special rocks from some mystery lady and Will Strife is complaining about him being a little worn out.” He scowled at Will, who mirrored his scowl. “I could have been caught by the police or even the Magic Police, and you’re upset that my back isn’t at the right angle while I’m waiting for dinner.”

Strife clasped his hands together tightly. “Thank you for what you did today, Parvis. Now, while you remain a guest in my house, I’d like you to prove your heritage to me and the people of this estate.”

Parv groaned and sighed, but he eventually straightened his posture. “Is that fine, Will? Does this mean I can have my dinner?”

Will silently raised his hand slightly, which signaled a servant who had been waiting timidly in the corner to dash quickly out of the room. Within seconds, there entered three more servants: Nathan, Alonzo and Genevieve. Nathan was carrying a pitcher of water and two goblets, while the other two each carried a covered plate. The goblets and water was placed first, then Alonzo and Genevieve positioned themselves behind Strife and Parvis.

They set the plates down, then lifted the covers as Alonzo announced, “For your amuse bouche, Master Strife, your preferred sushi and sashimi. And for Master Parvis, your preferred hollandaise oysters.”

The servants left, off to pick up the next course, as Strife and Parv would be done soon.

“When are you going to grow out of your silly obsession with those?” Parvis asked.

Strife ignored him as he took the first bite of the small appetizer. “Like you’re one to talk about obsessions with food,” he said once his mouth was empty. “You have those oysters all the time.”

Parv smirked. “They’re supposed to be an aphrodisiac, Will. Haven’t you noticed how effective they’ve been lately?”

Strife gaped at Parv for a few seconds while the younger man giggled. “I don’t think they’re an aphrodisiac. You’re just coming up with more bullshit.”

“It’s true!” Parv said, indignant.

“Get some actual studies on that and then I might be convinced.”

Parv’s smile returned. “Don’t you trust research conducted between me and you?”

“Nope,” Strife said firmly. “You can’t collect valid results with a small sample size and a biased researcher.”

Parv finished his amuse bouche and licked his lips while staring intensely at Will. “It’s so nice when you talk all sciencey to me, Will.”

Strife was thankful the next course arrived right after Parvis’ unnecessary comment so he didn’t have to reply.

“Garden salad tossed in red apple balsamic vinaigrette for Master Strife and Master Parvis. And baguettes and butter from the dairy at Strife Farms.”

Parvis slumped as the servants began to leave. One hesitated, looking between Parvis’ body language and Strife.

“Go on back, Alonzo,” Strife said. “Just because Parv isn’t happy with vegetable salads, it doesn’t mean that he’s getting a substitute.” The servant nodded and left the room.

“Lettuce makes you--” Parv began.

“--healthy.” Strife interrupted. “Eat the damn salad. You’re getting your meat in the next courses.”

“Oh sure, after the soup, which is probably vegetarian too,” Parv grumbled. “Why can’t they just give me the stuff I like right away?”

“Because you’re not a teenager eating informal meals with your cousins at your other home, Parvis,” Will reminded him. “If you actually took the time to develop a proper palate while growing up, you might actually enjoy these meals.”

Parvis pushed the salad plate to the side and took a slice of warm bread from the basket between himself and Strife. “I still enjoy meals with you Will!”

Strife muttered something incomprehensible and focused on finishing his salad.

“Will…”

Sigh. “What is it?”

“Do you want to see me make a cool new thing tonight?”

Alonzo and Genevieve arrived again to bring beef consommé. Parvis stubbornly moved his bread plate into the center of his setting to block Genevieve’s attempt to place the bowl down. She glanced worriedly at Strife, who relented and waved her away.

“Is this new thing of yours going to tear another hole in your room? I’m getting tired of calling away builders from the new school site to fix your messes. They’re busy and I’m hoping they can finish the job before the weather gets bad again so I can hire those teachers and get those kids some proper education.” The servants had left the dining room again. Meanwhile, Nathan returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He set down the glasses, then took a corkscrew and silently uncorked the bottle. He presented the cork on a small dish to Strife, who picked it up and inspected it absentmindedly. Pinot Gris. Strife placed it back on the dish and Nathan poured Will’s glass half-full, then poured Parvis’ glass before setting the bottle next to Will’s glass and leaving.

“It might be a bit dangerous,” Parvis was saying. “But it’s going to be important, I’m sure! You’ve got all your experiments that you’re running and supervising all the time. This is something that I got the idea for! And just like with all the people in your big fancy tower, you can supervise me on this! Isn’t it a great idea?”

Will was unconvinced. “Can you tell me exactly what this idea of yours involves?”

“It’s sort of like a gun, but it doesn’t need ammunition like normal ones.”

Strife frowned. “That’s impossible.”

Parvis whispered softly. “Not if it runs off the magic network.”

“You’re going to run out of magic. And you’re going to get trigger-happy with whatever horrible thing you’re going to end up making.” Strife took the bread basket away from Parvis and took a piece for himself. “My answer is no. I’m not letting you destroy this nice house any more than you’ve already done.”

Parv pouted and slumped messily on the table, almost knocking over his wine glass. “I said I was sorry for making a hole in the wall.”

Will didn’t respond and allowed Parvis to sulk until he was finished with his soup. Alonzo and Genevieve returned.

Strife had to admit he was once again impressed by the skill of Chef Micajah and Chef Zylpha. Positioned on the plate as if it were jumping out of the water was a whole descaled trout, dressed with a sauce that smelled like white wine, lemon, and capers.

Parv’s eyes lit up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get way too excited when writing about food. I can't help it.   
>    
>  Also, I feel horribly sick right now. Ugh.   
> 


	20. Rythian, second day, ninth hour

Dreams were a luxury that Rythian had given up a long time ago. After dealing with what felt like endless weeks of Ender nightmares, he had sought out the help of a witch who specialized in protection against the mind. He had the ritual burned onto his arm as an elaborate blackened scar that looked like a mere tattoo. It had done its work. Since the day he received it, Rythian’s sleep had consisted of either exploring his own mind or sweet nothingness.

It was worth it. He never wanted to see that barren white stone, or those skeleton forests, or those looming towers. He never wanted to hear those rippling whispers and the death-siren call of Her.

Unfortunately, no amount of witchery protection and power could erase the memories permanently scarred into his mind.

When he was still a free citizen of Craftia, and even when he was on the run from the Magic Police, it had been easy to fill his mind with more recent memories: experiences, encounters, sights, sounds, travels.

But here, that temporary happiness and fleeting hope was powerfully overshadowed by his old fears and his burning anger.

Most of the time, Rythian focused on the memories that incited the hatred. Occasionally, however, his brain would grow exhausted from imagining all the ways that he would slaughter Lalna, Sjin, Cadwell, Sheridan, Etherton, Windlass, Bleeze, and Zedock. Occasionally, his mind would stray to older memories. Dreams and visions of a world that still fought to claim his body and soul. The sights and the sounds of the Ender realm.

At least he still had the only thing that protected him from their toxic touch. His scarf, which he made himself with the similar spells to those that he used to create the anti-Ender sword. The magic on the scarf kept the black veins from spreading to the rest of his body. It kept his Ender presence away from Her knowledge.

_“You know, you always looked pretty with the scarf on. I’ll make sure you get to keep it.”_

_“Don’t strain yourself by pretending to be nice, Magic Police. I know it’s not in your nature.”_

Rythian lay on the cool stone floor of his cell, imagining that the faint magical presence he had sensed lately was Lalna. He gazed at the magic-blocking symbols in the wood and stone he had memorized months ago.

“Come a little closer next time,” Rythian murmured. “I’ve got a thousand plans for your demise.”

Short of tearing the scarf to shreds and burning the witch’s protection against the whispers in his dreams, Rythian was willing to do whatever it would take to destroy Lalna and his fellow Magic Police.


	21. Parvis, second day, tenth hour

Will Strife did a lot of things that Parvis considered excessive. First of all, there was the mansion. Strife had it filled with art ‘saved’ from galleries at risk of being shut down, from old castles from outside the walls of Craftia, and from local artists he commissioned. Parvis didn’t quite understand the prices that the artists charged, but he remembered talking about musician prices with his cousins before he ended up moving in with Strife.

But the mansion was huge and elaborate and so artsy. Full of art, full of old weapons and pieces of armor, full of books that Parvis didn’t care to read, and full of rooms that seemed to serve little purpose other than to exist. At least Strife hadn’t followed up with his idea of building a greenhouse like the ones he had at his farms near the Solution Tower.

There were also the schools that Strife was building, the new types of flowers that Strife was having researched, the guests who seemed to come without warning on some days [though perhaps Titus knew about them and didn’t bother to tell Parvis], and then there was this.

Dinner.

Strife insisted upon having this seemingly endless eight-course dinner every night, even when they didn’t have special guests over to impress. Parv didn’t care much for the courses after the miniature appetizer until the meat dishes started coming.

The only good thing about the dinners was the wine. Before he started living with Will, wine was just an occasional thing that he didn’t much care for.

But when he began having the dinners with Will, he found out that he could pretend to become drunk from the alcohol and either follow Strife to his room, or drag the attractive older man to his room.

Now Parv had enjoyed his fill of the meat courses, which were always served with wine. Will explained the art of pairing wine with food a few years ago, but it was a boring lecture and Parv zoned out within two minutes.

By the sorbet course, Parv had already climbed onto Strife’s lap and he leaned against Strife’s chest, pretending it was the warmest thing in the room. Nathan brought the two servings on a single dish and placed it in front of Strife and Parvis.

“Apple cider sorbet with candied apple slices and crisp caramel feather wafers,” Nathan said, already moving away from the table as he spoke. Before he was out of the room, Parvis had snatched the spoon away from Strife and held it away, out of Will’s reach.

Will let out a sigh. “So you’re going to do this?”

Parvis smirked and took a mouthful of the sweet sorbet, then directed the next towards Will, who reluctantly opened his mouth and allowed Parvis to feed him. Parv got two spoonfuls of sorbet into Will’s mouth before he started kissing him.

Unfortunately, Parv had fallen in love with a spoilsport. Will tolerated several of Parv’s kisses, and then suddenly Parvis was being pushed off Will’s thighs. He stayed on, but Strife had managed to push him off his chest.

“You have absolutely no patience,” Will said sourly, still pushing at Parvis, but with little conviction.

“I’m bored. I had to go to a library today. You’re not being nice, Will.”

“You’re taking advantage of the fact that we don’t have company over tonight. Maybe I should invite more business partners to come by more often.”

Parv pouted. He clambered off the chair.

Then he seized Will by the arm and dragged him away from the table.

“P-Parv--” Strife sputtered. “You--”

Parvis pushed Strife against the door to one of the countless hallways that lead to countless rooms and a few stairwells.

“Guess what we’re going to do tonight, Strifey,” Parv whispered with a smile, holding Will secure in front of him. “I’m going to tell you to do some things and you’re going to do them because you love me.”

Strife didn’t speak, but Parv could see the interest and excitement building in the hidden little corners of his face and his eyes that always showed Parvis exactly what he was thinking.

“I did everything you asked me to do today. I was your good little Alex Parvis.” Parvis loosened his grip on Strife’s arms to slide his fingers along the soft material of his red shirt. “Are you my good little William Strifey?”

Will struggled to come up with a response for a few seconds. “At least wait with that until we’re out of the dining room, Parvis,” he finally said.

“No, Will. I asked you a question. You know how rude it is not to answer questions.”

Parv smiled. As much as he wanted to drag Strife upstairs to his room, he waited. He wanted Strife to say the thing that he knew always made the man red in the face, even though they did this often enough that he shouldn’t be embarrassed.

It was still utterly gorgeous to see him like that.

Strife bit his lip uncomfortably.

“The longer you wait, the more likely Nathan or Genevieve will come back,” Parv reminded smugly.

Will’s breath caught in his throat, but he managed to murmur, “I--I’m your good l-little Will Strife.” His cheeks were beginning to color a faintly pink hue.

“You don’t sound too happy about being that, Strifey,” Parvis said, dismayed. “Don’t you _want_ to be good for me?”

The answer came faster now. “I want to be good for you, Parv. Please, let me be good for you.”

Triumphant, Parvis led Strife out of the room. Genevieve could always bring up whatever the dessert was supposed to be later, when they were done.

In maybe two hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you all can skip the next chapter if you want. It's not terribly important to the plot. In fact, you could have probably disregarded this one too.


	22. Parvis, second day, tenth hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can skip this part. There's nothing important in this. Please skip this part. I'm a horrible person.

Parvis held onto Strife’s warm hand as they ascended the small stairwell to the second floor. As always, he ignored the unreasonable amount of artwork they walked past. Will Strife was the only artwork Parv wanted to see at this moment.

It was only during times like this that Strife would allow Parvis to walk him around like they were teenagers in love. Most of the time, Strife seemed to think that merely existing in the same general area as Parvis was enough of a display of their relationship.

The times that Parvis could snatch up cute little moments like these were sparse, so he treasured them.

He would also treasure the moments that they would experience behind closed doors.

They had arrived at the door to Parvis’ room and Parv stopped. He turned Will around so he faced him again.

“Are you ready, Strifey?”

Will nodded, hints of a smile pulling at his lips.

Parvis opened the door. He entered first and heard Will shut the door after he too walked into the personal lounge area of the suite. Here, the wallpaper was all the decoration Parvis wanted, as he had personally painted over the original design with heavy patches of paint and charcoal that had lost its intended image partway through. In the dark, it added to the deep, long shadows that Parv loved so much.

They crossed the lounge area to the bedroom. This space was only faintly lit from fires burning low in the fireplaces on either side. Parvis didn’t bother turning on the lights, and strode over to his bed. He hopped onto the large mattress and sat casually on the edge of the bed, watching Will cross into the room.

“Stop. Wait right there.” Parvis ordered once Will was a few steps inside.

Will glanced backwards hesitantly.

“Leave the door open.”

“Okay.”

Parv crossed his arms and smiled warmly. “Will. I want you to take off your clothes. You remember how I like you to do it, right?” Without moving from his place on the bed, he quietly kicked off his shoes and they landed on the floor just at the foot of the bed.

Will nodded his head again. He started with his vest, unfastening it, slipping it off, and folding it in his hands before he dropped it carefully onto the floor. Next, he began unbuttoning the shirt. After finding the topmost button, he lifted his bright green eyes to gaze fervently at Parvis.

“Do you want more light?” Parvis asked. The only illumination in the room came from the fireplaces. He hadn’t bothered to switch on Strife Industries’ custom electric chandelier or the small lamps on either side of the bed. But if Will wanted more light…

Will hesitated, shirt about to slide off his arms. “No. I like it like this,” he said softly.

Parvis didn’t reply. Will’s shirt was gone, the undershirt was coming off, then he bent down to remove his shoes. And the faint light cast beautiful shadows across the muscles of Will’s torso, then his back. Parv’s smile grew.

Apart from Parvis himself, Will Strife was the prettiest person in the world. It was nice to be reminded that this statuesque body and the enormous ego within belonged entirely to Alex Parvis. He felt a warm rush of happiness watching Will rise back, watching that trusting face and that willing body…

“Stop,” Parvis ordered. Will stopped moving, unquestioning. “Come over onto the bed. Lay down on your back.” He pointed out the spot where he wanted Will, and his lover did as he asked.

Parvis got onto his knees and took off his own shirt, constantly watching where Will’s gaze was directed on his body.

“Too bad I’m not still in the naughty police getup, huh, Will?” Parvis said teasingly. He dropped the shirt behind him and placed one hand over Will’s heart. “I’ll have to remember to keep that on for another time.” Will’s skin was warm and his chest rose and fell a small amount with each beat of his heart. Parvis’ heart began to match Will’s rhythm. Parvis smiled confidently. “What were you thinking when you saw me in it this morning? I know it was something dirty.”

Will bit his lip and fingered the fabric of his trousers. He was trying to think up a different way to say it.

“I’d like an answer, Strifey. I’d like you to say exactly what you thought.”

“I--” Will began softly, face reddening. It was such a beautiful contrast to the Will Strife who led a powerful business empire and made his deep voice heard in the government assembly. This was the Will Strife that only Parvis got to see. “I was thinking… about you wearing that and… maybe… coming into the study while I was reading or working. And I imagined you r--I mean, t--uh…”

Parv crawled closer so he was directly on top of Will. He took his hand off Will’s chest and braced himself by putting his arms at either side of Will’s head. Their faces were close, almost close enough to touch if Parv leaned down.

“You want to pretend to be a bad boy and have Parvy the good policeman take care of you?”

“Y-yes.”

“You want me to keep you from moving or touching anything until I say you can?”

“I... yes, Alex. Someday, I’d like to do that... with you.”

Parvis grinned. “That’s exactly what I was hoping you would say, Will. Good boy for being honest.” Will’s breathing was becoming heavier. He was probably getting hard, just as Parvis was. Parvis petted his hair gently and watched Will lean lovingly into his hand. He was so desperate for attention and Parv wouldn’t have him any other way.

“I love you, Will. You’re such a good boy.” He caressed Will’s cheek and Will continued to bite back his own smiles. “I love your beautiful eyes and your pretty hair and your lovely voice. What do you love about me, Will?”

“I--” Will stuttered as Parvis sat down gently onto his bare abdomen. Parv knew Will could feel how aroused he was. “I love your smile, Parv. And I love your voice too. And I love how happy you are when I compliment you.”

“Oh?” Parvis moved his hand to gently touch Will’s lips. “Does that make you happy? Knowing that you can make me happy by pretending to care about the things I like? That’s how you show your endless love for me when you don’t want to actually say it?”

Will hesitantly moved his hand to touch Parvis’, but Parv pulled his hand back and rested it on Will’s shoulder before he could do so. “I mean it every time, Alex. Even… even your magic. It’s scary, but it’s amazing.”

Parvis leaned down to kiss Will softly on his forehead. “I’m sorry I scare you, Will.”

Will’s blush was vanishing. Parv kissed him on the lips, intentionally holding back so Will would be the one to initiate something more satisfying. When a few seconds had passed, Parv began giving little butterfly kisses along Will’s bottom lip. He knew it would only be a matter of time.

Finally, Will pushed up slowly, seeking out more. Parvis allowed him to open his mouth with his tongue, and then he pressed back with all force. He pinned Will’s shoulders to the bed, the intricately coiled blood-red tattoos on his forearms appearing to glow in the firelight. Parv saw the light in the corner of his eye and memories of holding Will over his altar while he traced the lines of his muscles with his sacrificial knife momentarily arose in his mind. Oh, that had been such a special night.

But he wasn’t going to do anything like that tonight. No, the secret door to his blood magic basement would remain hidden away this time. What he wanted for tonight was something sweeter, something to drive into Will’s mind that the two of them were absolutely perfect for each other. It made Will so embarrassed and sexy.

Parvis pulled away from Will and moved back, so his knees were on either side of Will’s body but he was no longer sitting on him. He shuffled back and gently took hold of Will’s hips. His thumbs slid across the smooth fabric of Will’s trousers and pressed down just before they reached the center, just shy of Will’s clothed cock.

Immediately, Will’s hands clenched the sheet below him.

“Ah--Alex…” Will whispered.

“What do you want, Will?” Parv didn’t move, but he could feel Will tensing and trying not to squirm around and embarrass himself further. It was all endearing to Parvis.

Will’s face was that lovely shade of red again. “I want to make you happy, Alex. Please, let me make you happy.”

Parvis laid his body down on top of Will. He kissed him, and Will communicated again, without words, how much he wanted to be a good boy. Parv squeezed Will’s hips again, then pulled at them, tugging them downwards. He lifted his head up, just enough to whisper against Will’s lips, “You know what I like, Will.”


	23. Alsmiffy, second day, twelfth hour

Alsmiffy leaned towards the wall, where half a dozen pipes ran up and down and to either side. In the center of the mess of pipes was a large opening covered with wire mesh.

“Do either of you have any extra iron?” His alchemical table glowed a faint red color from the other side of the small room. The soft orange and yellow flames under the crucible cast faint shadows across the floor, although the room was mostly lit by steadily burning eternal flames stuck to the walls and ceiling. In another corner of the room, the bright light of magical lava peeked through thick enchanted iron bars and obsidian bricks of Alsmiffy’s infernal furnace. A small golem was ferrying the last of the raw ores from a battered backpack into the furnace, then collecting the red-hot ingots when as they were completed. That small amount wasn’t enough right now.

After a few seconds, Trottimus’ voice came through the pipe, made slightly tinny by traveling a long distance throughout the network of pipes in the building.

“Holy fucking Notch, Smiffy, you’re going to end up taking fucking everything. Some of us are trying to put together new weapons and armor and useful things.”

Ross’s voice echoed. “I have some iron, but you need to come up and get it, you twat.”

“What are you doing anyway? Making more goddamn magical bee shit?” There was an extremely loud crash from above, and Smiffy looked away from the pipes to watch dust fall from the ceiling.

Alsmiffy glanced at a wooden door to the side of his small fountain built into one wall. He had an apiary in there, with magical flowers from Lomadia and Nilesy growing out of the walls to feed the little beasts. The bees were the main reason Trott and Ross now refused to come down into Smiffy’s hidden alchemical lair.

“You just fucking wait, Trott,” Alsmiffy said. “When we have unlimited unattainable resources for doomsday magic or machines, you’ll be glad I had these bees.”

“Can you hear yourself?” Trott laughed. “Once you find a way to make them bigger, controllable, and armed with projectile weapons to shoot the police in the bloody eyeballs, then I’ll believe you.”

“Didn’t you try to work with them a few months ago, when Nano was here?” Alsmiffy recalled tauntingly.

“Working out that useless collection of bees was better than watching you trip over yourself impressing her with your stupid alchemy. She’s not even interested in it. She came up to me afterwards and asked me to show her some of my rocket designs.”

Alsmiffy shrugged. “She’s too stupid to learn alchemy anyway. Makes sense that she wants to learn the easy things from you.”

“She picked up explosions from you, prick.”

“Smiffy, I left your iron in the old generator room,” Ross said, his voice faint in the pipes. “Come and get it, you bastard.”

Alsmiffy left the cluttered basement, stepping onto a platform in the center and pulling one of the ropes trailing up into the ceiling roughly. The platform shot upwards rapidly, stopping at the floor above with a massive jolt which Smiffy had already braced himself for.

True to his word and the crash from moments before, a sizeable pile of processed iron ingots sat on the floor in a messy pile. Ross was nowhere to be seen, which probably just meant he had gone back to the deed room to pick out which piece of property H.A.T. Corp would be purchasing next. From the customers they had received over the past few weeks, close to thirty land and property owners were unable to pay a recent tax on underdeveloped land. Previously, such land was only taxed a small amount, but apparently the government wanted more money, and that was just one of the areas that they could predate upon.

What it meant to H.A.T. Corp was that they could buy the pieces of land, build enough to meet the city requirements, and put them back on the market at a price at least double the cost of the land and the construction.

Just another day in their real estate company. Even if Ross was the one who did most of the work in that process, they all worked together to handle the customers who came in to buy or sell. It was much easier to scam people when they had to try to concentrate on three people at once.

“Thanks, Ross.” Alsmiffy loaded all of the ingots into his arms and returned to his alchemical lab. He placed three of the ingots on one edge of the six-point star on his table. The faint shimmering lines connecting each point to the others glowed brighter.

He turned aside to his thaumonomicon and made a note of the ingredients.

“Now, time for the catalyst.” Smiffy scooped up each ingredient and placed them into a wide, shallow bowl made of thaumium. The ingredients sparked as they touched the purple metal and as soon as the last item was inside, Smiffy touched the bowl with one of his wands and flames erupted from the sides of the bowl. The contents dissolved and let loose a thick wave of sparks that flew high above the flames, which had turned a faint green.

When it was over, a rough mound of black powder was left in the center of the bowl. Alsmiffy was about to scoop it up when he remembered last time he made an explosive powder. Even in its raw form, it had blown a small crater in his lab. Said crater had been turned into a fountain that he decorated with their seemingly endless supply of marble. Smiffy didn’t need another fountain in his lab. And considering this recipe should be able to make a larger and more powerful explosion, he didn’t want to take the risk yet.

He left the powder where it was and looked around for his fireproof gloves, or for the little scoop he made out of a non-reactive, non-flammable material.

Trottimus’ voice echoed in the room from the pipe system again. “If you end up needing more iron, I just sent some more ore through the processor. We’re going to need to acquire some more from the H.A.T. Mine soon, though.” There was a small pause. “I’m going to end up having to do that, won’t I?”

“Yes.” Ross and Smiffy said at the same time.

Having found the scoop, Alsmiffy carefully transferred the powder to a glass jar he had pulled off one of the shelves. Interestingly, this was one of the jars that Nano had made when she was experimenting with different crafts. That was before Smiffy started testing out his explosives near her tower, before Nano started asking how to make these substances that destroyed things and left fires behind.

He would find a more reliable glass jar as soon as he tidied up the lab.

Now all he needed to do was construct some form of device which he could fill with the explosive powder. According to his theory, the mix should be at least four times the strength of simple gunpowder. He would have to conduct plenty of tests in order to write a good conclusion at the end of his current experiment log.

For now, the jar was sealed and set up on a shelf next to the nine other jars full of experimental explosive powders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have a lot more of this fic written and saved, but I'm still going to upload this in little chunks.


	24. Nilesy, third day, third hour

Dawn came far too early for Nilesy. Fishbone had crawled onto his face, and woke Nilesy by walking around in a circle and stretching his paws to poke into his mouth. Nilesy pushed the cat onto his chest and covered his face with the pillow.

“Rise and shine, Nilesy,” Lomadia said. “We’ve got a big day today. Do some business, make some money, do some farming and gardening, take H.A.T. Corp’s magic book out of Craftia to see Nano and collect contraband resources from our secret stash in the Dark Forest, then make it back home in time for work tomorrow.”

“Oh, Lomadia,” Nilesy muttered into his pillow. “I’m so excited I’m literally about to jump out of bed and through the roof. You’d better be ready to catch me or we’ll lose the pretty roof we just had repaired last month.”

There was a sharp smack on the pillow and Nilesy flinched. 

“Don’t you take that tone with me, mister. I deal with enough sass from my owl and I don’t need to hear it from you.”

“I’m serious about how excited I am,” Nilesy continued, rolling out of bed. Fishbone meowed in protest and jumped back onto the mess of blankets and sheets. “I just cannot wait to get my hands on some super special minerals and you can get your super special ingredients that you can’t grow in the secret garden next to the--”

Lomadia cut Nilesy off. “Alright fine. You want more sleep? Go ahead. But that means that if we get back late, you’re staying awake and opening the shop while I get to go to sleep.”

Nilesy struggled to untangle himself from his sheets and succeeded in falling back onto the ground twice before he made it up. “Alright, alright! I’ll help you open up today. In fact, I’ll make you some breakfast and I’ll take care of Fishbone and Hoot and Clyde. You can just relax.”

Lomadia seemed pleased that Nilesy had risen to her bait. She turned on her heel and left Nilesy’s room, making her way downstairs. “Alright then. I’ll look forward to breakfast.”

“At least it means we won’t be having any more damned fish or apples, Lomadia!” Nilesy shouted after her.

“I sold most of the extra preserved food that you were complaining about!” Her voice was fainter by the second, but still as defensive as ever.

Nilesy sighed. He looked at the bed, where Fishbone was watching him curiously. 

“What do you want to eat, Fishbone?”

An image of smoked fish appeared in Nilesy’s mind and he shook his head to clear it out. 

“Nilesy Surprise it is, then.”


	25. Sjin, third day, fourth hour

“I don’t know,” Lyra Harvest said in hushed tones. She kept looking from Sjin’s face to the door, as if she were afraid her attacker was coming back to finish her off. “I know that I was just walking home. It was the same path I always took. And then, I… I don’t… I know I was being shaken awake by some people I didn’t recognize. I felt really dizzy and lightheaded. And my arm hurt.”

“Do you remember anyone talking to you before you woke up?” Sjin asked.

“Um.” Lyra drew her brows tight together as she thought. “I--maybe? It feels like a dream, so I’m not sure.”

“What do you remember of the dream?”

“Uh, well. It was a man’s voice. He was talking a lot, but I can’t remember what it was about. It was dark, and cold. And…” her eyes widened suddenly.

Sjin waited patiently.

“He bit me. After that, everything blurred out again and I woke up at the Cathedral.” The woman began to panic. “Oh Notch, no. Is he going to come back and kill me? What if he knows--?”

Sjin stepped away from the bed and the nurse who had been sitting next to him hovered over Lyra, holding her hand comfortingly. “It’s okay, dear. You’ll be safe here. Don’t worry. The police are going to catch the monster who hurt you.”

Meanwhile, Sjin left the room. Lalna was waiting outside the door.

“We were right. The victims think they were bitten by the culprit, and they don’t stop to think about how their wound doesn’t match the story they remember.” Sjin reported. He and Lalna began making their way out of the hospital.

“Did she remember anything?”

Sjin nodded. “Just like Mr. Beaumont, she remembered a dark, cold place and a man who spoke to her.” They reached the door and he pushed it open for Lalna. Warm air struck them, and they were grateful that their magical robes kept their body temperature from overheating or getting too low from the elements.

“Looks like the underground idea still holds,” Lalna murmured. “Do you reckon we should talk to some more victims?”

Sjin shrugged. “I’m thinking some of the older victims might have been influenced quite a bit by all the rumors and fake reports flying around. One of the victims from about two and a half weeks ago was even a part of that silly cult that’s pretending to worship the man.”

The Order of the Holy Vampire was something of a fad arising around the growing public interest in the attacks. Their followers apparently claimed that, because the vampire never killed anyone, he was actually leaving his ‘chosen’ people with a special gift. It was all complete bullshit. The young member of the Order who had recently been ‘claimed’ by the attacker had likely spun whatever memories he had of the attack into something absolutely idiotic.

Still, it was troubling that the Order was getting more attention with each attack. It was even more troubling that several of the victims were joining the Order, even if only to make themselves feel safe and accepted.

“For now, I think we can leave that cult alone and conduct our own investigations. I don’t want to have to deal with them trying to sabotage our attempts to bring this motherfucker down.” Sjin slid his hands into his pockets, looking around at the buildings they were passing. How many of these held dark secrets below their foundations, hidden chambers full of illegal magic or witchery, meeting places for dark covens, and perhaps even the very criminal they currently sought?

“It’s got to be somewhere that keeps all of their building plans out of public knowledge,” Lalna said. “If this guy is using a blood altar, he would want to make sure nobody ever came across it. Some private business or residence.”

A residence would be more likely. Among citizens with higher incomes, it was popular to purchase a plot of land first, register the land with the government, then hire a construction company to build a house of that company’s architect’s design so their secrets would remain with the construction company, who were contractually bound to secrecy. Or, they bought a piece of property with a building already in place and therefore records already in place, have it destroyed and build their house afterwards. Sjin had spent years designing elaborate houses with hidden rooms and passages and basements for such people.

But there was no telling how many homes like that existed. It would have been helpful if records of blood mages existed, but unfortunately, Kirindave’s book only reported on rumors that tended to match up with other rumors.

Clearly, even among the magic community, blood magic was something that was not to be played around with. Perhaps that was because several ‘experts’ believed that demons resided in the altars used by blood mages. These people believed that once a blood mage was powerful enough, the demon would take the soul of the mage and destroy the altar.

It was creepy. Sjin hoped that those ideas were untrue, because he would much rather deal with a power-hungry mage than a demon.

“I have a feeling that the best place to hide a blood altar and whatever evil instruments the mage has,” Sjin said, “would be in a basement well-hidden under some wealthy person’s residence.”

“Really?” Lalna asked.

“Well, try to profile this mage.” Sjin reasoned. “He’s practicing an ancient form of dark magic. We can’t find much information on it, so he either came across something that has more than what we have, or he has access to more than we have. Either a man who had access to the libraries before they were purged of evil knowledge, or a man who has access to his own library of rare and unusual literature.”

“Alright,” Lalna admitted. “And this guy has a place where people might not notice him bringing strange people in the middle of the night. Some place where there’s not a large concentration of people.”

“He probably lives alone, to keep others from discovering his dark secret in his basement,” Sjin added. “We should look into upper-class residences owned by single men, to start. There’s going to be a holiday party next week, so if we’ve narrowed down the list by then, we can work on further determining which one might be a blood mage.”

Lalna looked hesitant. “Well…”

“We can also patrol the skies at night,” Sjin added. “Or we can watch those cult people to make sure they don’t get unruly with the more frequent attacks.”

Lalna sighed. “I’m sure we can profile the guy more.”

Sjin didn’t reply to that. The problem was, the ‘vampiric’ blood mage was so infamous that the accounts had been largely obscured and it was difficult to gain a clear picture from many of the original accounts collected by local patrol officers who had taken care of each crime scene.

Still, at least for now, wealthy men with a lot of time seemed like a good start. They might not be able to catch the mage, but they could get a lot closer to him.


	26. Strife, third day, fifth hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I got my wifi back on, so I'm going to be a lot more productive with writing and posting some of the chapters that are done and waiting. Today, I'll put up another two. The story is getting closer to the fun action, so thanks for reading this fic so far!

“Rythian is in the lowest level of the Angel’s Keep Penitentiary, according to these legal records,” Strife explained to Parv, who was plucking absentmindedly at his guitar, occasionally filling the study with about half a minute of music before falling silent again. “There are four levels below ground level, and three levels above, starting with the ground level.”

“So it’s got a lot of baddies who can’t see the sunlight,” Parv said drily. “And our guy is the baddest of the baddies.”

Strife glared weakly at the distracted man sitting slouched on one of his couches. “Pretty much. I would assume a few other Undesirables are down there with him, as well as a lot of criminals serving life sentences who the public forgets about after five years. There might be some pretty dangerous people around him.”

A wicked gleam came into Parvis’ eyes. “We could release a bunch of them and the guards and the police would have a harder time catching Rythian and we would have plenty of time to get him out of the city! I’m a genius, Will!”

“That. Is. A. Terrible. Idea.” Strife said firmly, wincing inwardly at the idea of Parvis breaking out of a massive crater in the prison, followed by evil witches, murderers, rapists, and traitors. The worst thing was that it wasn’t a hard thing to imagine.

“Why?”

“If it’s just one person--one person who didn’t actually kill anybody, mind you--the police might not make a big uproar over his disappearance. They would just focus on getting him back so the prison’s reputation isn’t ruined.”

Parvis groaned, slouched lower on the couch, and played an overly dramatic set of chords. 

“So it’s just going to be ‘Hey, Parv, sneak into this big bad prison, and make a tiny little hole just big enough for you and the magical menace to society to escape’ and there’s not going to be any cool flashes or explosions?”

Strife considered reminding Parvis that he too was a magical menace to society, but he still had the man’s attention on planning the operation. It would be hard to regain that once he derived from his original intentions to voice his concerns with Parv’s occasional nighttime activities. At least it was still only occasional.

“It’s probably safer to start at the top of the prison and make your way straight down. Either using a drill or one of those horrid blood magic tools, you can smash through each layer.” Strife checked the blueprints for the prison again. It was the outer walls that were reinforced with bars of iron. There were still some iron bars lining the floors/ceilings, but they were much fewer. Parvis would be able to find a spot to blast his way down.

“Aren’t there magic spells keeping the Undesirables inside?” Parvis asked. “They’ve got to have something to keep them stuck, right?”

Strife frowned at that. That was true.

“Do you think your blood magic tools can break through those?” Strife said, hating the idea of relying on Parv’s messy rituals.

“I can make this new thing if you want, Will.” Parv offered. "It’s going to be so badass. I think it’ll be able to break through anything in seconds.” He sat up excitedly, watching for Strife’s reaction. “It’s going to be way better than all your technology.”

Strife considered all of the other ‘badass things’ Parvis had made in the past months. Most of them either failed right away or were too dangerous to use more than a few times. Although this was a one-day operation, Strife would still be much more confident working with something that he was sure wouldn’t stop working halfway through.

“I’m not sure I trust your new things anymore, Parvis,” Strife admitted.

Parvis got up from the couch, left his guitar behind, and stormed over to Strife. “Come here, Will. We can do this right now and you won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

Strife allowed Parv to seize his hand and drag him back to his room and down to his secret blood magic basement. “Do you want to give me some sort of explanation as to what you’re about to attempt, Parv?”

“It’s a bound tool, Strife! I bind a tool, either a sword or a knife or maybe even one of your guns to my blood network, and the thing becomes indestructible, and as long as I have enough blood energy, it’s invincible! I’ll be invincible! I’m thinking of doing a sword, and I can do a shovel or an axe or whatever you think is best for breaking into a prison.”

Strife was silent for a while as they descended the stairs into the irritatingly still-dark basement. “If it’s a magic tool, wouldn’t it be stopped by the magic wards in the prison?”

Parvis shook his head excitedly. “No, it won’t. Blood magic is older than the magic that’s being used in the prison, I think.”

“You think.” Strife repeated, feeling an ache growing in his head. “See--”

“Why can’t you just trust me for once!” Parvis whined, stopping and facing Strife with a pout that emanated from his entire being. “I promise you that I know what I’m doing.”

And yet, he just said ‘think.’


	27. Lalna, third day, fifth hour

Standing outside the Hall of Craftian Ceremonies, Sjin held onto the list of names of guests invited to the Crescent Honey Moonrise Ball. He read the surnames under his breath while Lalna tried to remember as much as he could about each family name.

Kirindave would be there. That wasn’t much of a surprise, as he was constantly working to prove that, although he had been listed as an Undesirable, he was in fact a shining beacon of humanity and goodwill amidst the city. Ridgedog was another man of noble descent who had been considered for Undesirable status, but managed to pay off the police and the government before the posters were created. 

Mostly, Lalna knew the family names by their claimed noble status or their affluent public presence or just the companies named after them: Cornwall, Parvis, Missing, Khaz Modan, Sips, Gosencrantz, Strife, Catsby, Eleven, Luck, Minute, Turpster.

“I--uh--” Sjin began. “I don’t actually know a lot about too many of these.”

Lalna took the list, folded it up, and tucked it into his notebook. “We can profile the people we see at the event. We’re invited to go, along with most of the supervisors and police chiefs. Until then, we can work out more of a psychological analysis of this guy.”

Sjin’s face darkened, but he turned away from Lalna and started off down the street. A noisy group of teenagers passed them as Sjin said, “You think we’ll have to wait until the guy strikes again?”

Lalna wasn’t sure. He and Sjin had a list of all the people whose medical records showed the same wound profile, as well as a list of all the self-claimed victims, as well as a list of all missing persons who had been reported over the time the magical criminal had been active. It was a lot of people, and at best, they could only guess how many people were really victims of their blood mage.

A simple smile eased onto Lalna’s face. “Well, if more people are attacked, it’s a shame, but it’s not really our fault. I mean, they were the ones wandering around on their own at night. We’re doing our best to find this guy, and they should take precautions.”

“That’s true… but I really want to catch this guy and keep him from thinking he can have his run of Craftia!” Sjin said energetically.

A thought suddenly struck Lalna. “Hang on a moment.” They stopped, having only progressed half a block from the giant many-spired building that was the Hall of Craftian Ceremonies. “When I talked with the Undesirables about what the vampire might be, only one of them mentioned blood magic.”

Sjin looked confused, but he nodded slowly, waiting to hear the rest of Lalna’s revelation.

“You know, Kirindave said blood magic is really old and unusual.” Lalna added.

Sjin’s face lit up. “You think that Undesirable might have known a blood mage?”

“Maybe.”

“Who was it?”

“Chaos.” Lalna chuckled. “I think I wasn’t actually supposed to talk to him, but the guard had just gone to the Warden to report that one of the Undesirables had somehow managed to put herself into a coma. I had a few minutes to spare.” Of course, he had hoped to come across someone else, but he couldn’t find him in time. Maybe another Undesirable would do something during Lalna’s next visit to the penitentiary.

Sjin began moving again. “That guy… he was the mastermind behind the initial Magical Uprising around the time the Undesirables were named wasn’t he? But I was on the team that raided his headquarters when me and Captain Cadwell and Zedock were hunting down his followers. At most, he had things for advanced witchery and maybe some voodoo. And some pretty powerful magic spells, I’ll admit, but we never saw anything as old as blood magic…”

Lalna followed after Sjin. “But he knows about it. He knows what it involves. So he must have heard it from someone.”

“One of his upper-class magical sponsors?” Sjin suggested.

Oh, those mysterious sponsors. Lalna remembered Cadwell trying to interrogate Chaos for the names of the upper-class mages and witches who had provided his small army with resources and magical knowledge. Chaos had remained stubbornly silent, and eventually, Cadwell had to send him to Angel’s Keep without figuring out anything. It was a major disappointment at the time, even though they managed to bring in most of the followers of Chaos’ anarchist movement.

And now, maybe one of those sponsors was the blood mage who was now terrorizing Craftia. That person had waited until most of the Magic Police was gone, and now he thought himself invincible.

“We could start with the only other person who sort of fits that description,” Lalna suggested.

“Who’s that?”

“Kirindave.”

Sjin made a face and shook his head. “Kirindave was the one who confirmed how it might be blood magic. If he thought we might come back and do a more thorough search of his home again, why would he tell us so much about it?”

“Who knows? To point us at other people? He’s still a sneaky criminal, even though he’s not in prison, Sjin.”

Although, more than going back to interrogate Kirindave, Lalna would much rather go back and interrogate Chaos further. And then talk to that other mage…

_Chaos smiles as if he has been expecting Lalna to come. It’s the same smile as before, when Lalna would watch Captain Cadwell shout and threaten the man who almost brought all the dissenting witches and mages in Craftia together to overthrow the government. Lalna wonders how it could have truly been three and a half years since Chaos was imprisoned._

_Those three and a half years have done nothing to change Chaos’ presence. Even now, he appears strong, a storm that may at any moment burst free of the confines of the Angel’s Keep and unleash his Chaos on the city._

_But Lalna reminds himself that Chaos can do nothing as long as he is held within a cell reinforced with magical seals. He’s powerless._

_“Magic Police,” Chaos says, the words sliding off his tongue like gentle water over smooth rock. “I must admit that I didn’t expect this one, although I’m touched that one of you finally came to see me. I had almost hoped it would be the dear Captain. Has something happened to him?”_

_Lalna puts his hands out in a casual shrug. “I’m the face of the Magic Police now. You’ve missed a lot while you’ve been hiding away from Craftia.”_

_Chaos’ smile never leaves. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I only see one unfriendly face now, but it still has a mouth that talks. The mighty Magic Police have caught all the naughty Undesirables, and now they downsized. Now there’s only a few left.”_

_What Chaos is saying is true; however, he doesn’t know how powerful the Magic Police have become. Lalna knows that even the Magic Police of last year would be no match for himself and Sjin at their current power. Two is all they need._

_Chaos cocks his head to the side. He stands up and walks closer to the door, slowly. “You want something. The guard isn’t babysitting you, so you’re after something you don’t want other people to hear about. I wonder what that is.”_

_Perhaps the approach Lalna used with the last Undesirable may be enough to get even a vague answer from Chaos. He doesn’t have much time until the guard comes back, so he goes ahead and asks, “What would you do with dozens of liters of blood?”_

_“Add a cursed bacterial culture and let them ferment into toxic wine and pour them into your blood and the blood of every former and current member of the Magic Police, as well as the Government Assembly.” Chaos answers immediately. His eyes narrow. “But I suppose you want to know the magical answer, don’t you?”_

_Lalna doesn’t respond. It sounds like the guard might be coming back, looking for him._

_Chaos laughs. “Giving you information isn’t going to do anything. What’s going to happen? Some other mage or witch ends up here? You get yourself killed chasing a mage more powerful than you anticipated?” His eyes burn with something like hatred. Lalna has seen it in most of the other Undesirables this morning._

_“Who knows? You might be up against a blood mage.”_

_Lalna’s fingers twitch slightly towards his notebook. What is a blood mage? He’s never heard of such a mage._

_The guard is beside Lalna now. He’s terrified of how close Chaos is to the bars, and he urges Lalna to move along quickly._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't seen a lot of DaveChaos, so I'm sorry if I get him horribly wrong.


	28. Nano, third day, sixth hour

It was now approximately seven months since Nano started building explosives in the partially dilapidated tower that stood roughly a mile away from the walls of the city. The storage space in her tower might have become quite full by this time, had Nano not developed a hobby of testing out her weaponry on the mobs that populated the wasteland. 

Her tower was at the edge of said wasteland, which stretched out for miles before it was overtaken by the massive dark forest that bordered much of the eastern wall. During the evenings and nights, mobs would leave the forest and travel around the wastelands, sometimes even venturing close to Nano’s tower. She found it entertaining to stay awake during the nights to shoot rockets--and flaming arrows when she ran out of rockets--at any creature that ventured within range.

It was fun, though it was more fun to imagine flying above the city with her really dangerous rockets using the propulsions that H.A.T. Corp said they would give her someday soon.

They had said that as long as she attacked the buildings they specified were for demolition, she could go crazy with the bombs and rockets. Every few days, during the night, she would travel through their magical book into one of their countless underground rooms to find them working on their complicated science and magic and scheming. She would watch them and ask questions and snap back at them when they lashed out at her. 

Nano was sure they didn’t mind as much as they complained about her taking a few of their resources each time. They had so much, after all. 

Nano was currently collecting bones from several of the mysteriously animated skeletons she had shot down last night. She had been told once that the seemingly endless skeletons were from an old battlefield that had been cursed by some sort of mage, but she wasn’t so sure of the story’s truth. She had seen countless skeletons ever since she moved out here, and if they had been wandering around the borders of the city as long as legends said they had, the battle must have been truly gargantuan in size.

Not that it mattered how they got here. Their bones, probably still containing traces of animation magic, could grow her crops extremely quickly when she ground their bones down and added them to the soil around their roots. It was definitely helpful during the winter months when it was normally too cold to grow anything.

Nano hummed a little song as she put the bones into a worn bag, hearing the ever-present warm echo in the back of her mind. When she had words for a song, the echo would mimic Nano’s voice, but when it was just a tune, the echo would put words in Nano’s mind instead.

**The sinners without a soul… a dry, dead feast…**  
**Tomorrow… a day of red stained-hands…**  
**Hold the steel rain… lash thy beast…**  
**The final breath… horizon of the walled lands…**

Rincewind, one of the little golems Smiffy gave her when they sent her out here to live, was following after Nano. When the bag got to be a little too heavy with the bones, the golem took it and dashed back towards the tower to deposit the bones and return to help her collect more things.

Nano started back towards the tower. She didn’t feel like spending the extra time and effort butchering the other dead mobs littering the land around her house. She was more interested in seeing what Barnaby--the other golem--had collected and cooked from the little garden she had built just outside the ground floor of the tower.

As she entered through the door on the lowest floor, she was immediately faced with the only item Trott, Smiffy, and Ross would allow her to keep in this large room: the magical book. 

Usually, it was one of the three who came through the book and opened the not-so-hidden trapdoor into their mine beneath the tower. Sometimes they would send people who had paid to use their portal book. Such customers were either adventurers who wanted to see the mobs for themselves, or criminals trying to escape the law by fleeing Craftia, or the rare scientist or witch or mage who wanted to find some kind of ingredient in its natural element.

Those last people were the people Nano liked best. Sometimes they stayed and talked with her, teaching her about the interesting things they were researching. Lomadia and Nilesy were like that.

Unfortunately, some of these people looking for sciencey or magicy things didn’t come back from the dark forests. Too bad.

“Hey!” Nano shouted at the book. “Should I leave mines down here next week? Your customers can sneak out of the city with a big bang!” There would never be an answer out of the book, but she could always hope they had somehow upgraded their book to spy on her while she was out here. Nano went on, “I’m working on this cool thing that breaks down the skin on animals! You think it works on people? I could pour it on you, Smiffy! You think you can change yourself back with your magic?”

Her shouts echoed off the empty walls. Nano left the book alone and walked up a short flight of stairs to a large room that she mainly used for storage. After making sure Rince had dumped the bones into a wooden crate next to a large pile of firewood, Nano checked the room carefully to make sure no spiders had come back. 

“Come on, you little beasts,” she murmured, picking up a hammer out of a barrel of old tools and looking in every dark corner that the spiders usually frequented. “Show yourselves.” Rincewind followed her around, perplexed by her actions.

The spiders didn’t emerge, however, so Nano shrugged and left the hammer, then walked up another flight of stairs to her workroom. This was filled partly with machines and partly with rocket and explosive bits. Sadly, she had used all of her last batch of nice things that blew up on a few rabid wolves and a swarm of zombies.

She could start making some more explosives once she ground up the creeper bones. Until then, it was flaming arrows and mystery skin goo.

The echo had given her the idea for the goo actually. While listening to it sing to her, Nano had gone out into the dark forests and spent a day collecting things that looked interesting, some of which she recognized and some bits that were unfamiliar. These things ended up in one of her cooking pots at the end of the day, while Nano stirred them and hummed along to the song inside her head. She hadn’t been paying attention to what she gathered, and it actually came as a bit of a surprise that she was using her good cooking pot for some kind of experimental science.

But the weird goo was interesting. When Nano had dipped an arrow in it and shot a wild pig, she watched the goo slowly crawl across the skin of the pig, then dissolve its skin and replace it with something just like the goo, but slightly more iridescent and ethereal, somehow.

Nano had determined that it would be prettier if it had a color to it, so she added some pretty purple dye into the mixture, along with some of the bone dust, wondering if it might make the process happen faster.

It did. 

Nano now stood mesmerized in front of the large glass tank holding the pretty purple goo, which had hardened over the last few days and formed a hollow sphere surrounding a clear tiny glowing--

The echo began singing again. 

It liked the purple stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading so far, and I hope you enjoy what's coming soon!


	29. Kirindave, third day, eighth hour

The Craftian public parks actually were fairly nice. Of course, depending on the district, some might be nicer than others, but they were still some of the kinder places where children and young people could entertain themselves when they had free time.

While Kirindave liked to stay near his home to ensure that nobody would wander--intentionally or unintentionally--into his home and activate the numerous traps he had set up, he also liked to venture out of the upper class district and interact with other people. He liked being around people who didn’t know he was one of the mages who narrowly evaded being imprisoned for life just because he was curious and venturesome in his earlier life. 

Kirindave had laid out a blanket under a tree, similar to several other people who were enjoying an afternoon meal, across the park. He had brought a meal, but it currently sat undisturbed in his pack. Instead, he had an assortment of fabrics and different colored threads spread in front of him.

His hands worked fairly quickly, bringing trimmed pieces of light brown fabric together with steady stitches. 

A child’s voice broke into the silence Kirindave had been enjoying.

“Are you making an animal?”

Kirindave didn’t stop his pace, but he briefly flicked his gaze up to see who was speaking to him. It was a little girl, most likely playing while on an outing with a parent or other relative. She was wearing a pretty blue dress, barely smudged with dirt from her recent excursions.

“No, this isn’t an animal.” He said, focusing on where the needle was. Back and forth, keep it straight, keep the stitches close and small.

“Is it a doll?”

A faint smile worked its way onto his face. “Actually it is.”

“Does it have a name?”

Kirindave shook his head. “I don’t know what this doll’s name is going to be. Soon, I’ll find out. Then I’ll give the doll some eyes and hair and some nice clothes and even a little heart.”

“Oh!” The girl was entranced. “You put a heart in it? My papa says my doll doesn’t have a heart, but I think it does have one. If you’re going to make a doll, it’s important to give it a heart so it can love you, right?” 

Kirindave shrugged. “Well, I’m sure this doll loves someone. Maybe I can make a doll of that person too. Then they’ll have each other.”

The girl was even more delighted. She sat down across from Kirindave and watched him sew the little doll’s legs. “That’s so happy. You’re a nice doll man.”

He laughed. “I like making them accurate. Dolls are supposed to be like people, right?” The girl nodded enthusiastically. “So if people want to have friends, then dolls should be like that too. They have their friends. And they have hearts. And… other things.”

“What other things?”

Kirindave turned the torso of the doll out and examined the finished product. The doll was faceless, empty inside, without clothes or hair or anything to distinguish itself. He left the thread and the needle dangling from the open torso cavity and set the doll down.

“I think I can hear your papa calling you.”

The girl looked over her shoulder. “Oh,” she said. A tall man in the distance was waving at her and making his way towards them. The girl sat up. “I gotta go, mister. Thanks for showing me your doll.”

Kirindave nodded. “Thank you for sharing your company.”

She was about to leave when she paused and looked curiously into Kirindave’s basket. Two dolls that had been complete for a long time sat inside. She smiled in delight at seeing the simple detail worked into each doll, marking each as distinctive as any human being. One doll had blond yarn sewn into his head for hair, light blue buttons as eyes, a small smile sewn in pink thread. The other also had blue button eyes, although darker, with dark brown yarn hair and a tiny mustache and goatee, which hid his small smile. Both were dressed in unusually colorful miniature robes. They almost looked like uniforms.

“Do you think you would make a doll like me someday?”

Kirindave began putting his materials away. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe when you’re older and you’re doing amazing things.”

The girl beamed. “My papa works in the government and he says I should take his place someday! Is that an amazing thing?”

Kirindave hesitated. “You should do what makes you happy.”

The girl nodded, but he had the feeling she didn’t really understand it. He watched her run back to her father, who caught her and raised her up onto his hip.

Kirindave looked down at the incomplete doll.

“I do wonder,” he mused. “Who could you be?”


	30. Lomadia, third day, ninth hour

_ROSE BLOSSOM FLORISTS_  
_WILL BE CLOSED UNTIL TOMORROW_  
_WE APOLOGIZE FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE_

It wasn’t quite sundown yet, but Nilesy had been sending Lomadia pitiful glances all day and she was sick of waiting to close shop. They locked up the shop and then checked the locks on every door and window in the building.

“Well, that’s everything.” Lomadia said. Nilesy was practically bouncing at their back door as she bent down to retrieve her pack from the kitchen table.

“Come on, Lomadia,” he said impatiently. “I want to get out there and see the scary monsters."

“Alright. Calm down,” Lomadia scolded. She approached their food pantry and stepped quite deliberately on a smooth stone that was a part of the floor close to the wooden door. The entire pantry slid to the side, revealing dark witch’s robes, wide-brimmed witch’s hats, and two hawthorn brooms. Pale white blossoms were perpetually trapped among the bound twigs at the end of Nilesy’s broom, while dark red berries adorned Lomadia’s broom. They each took their robes, hat, and broom, and let the pantry slide back into place.

As the hats were placed on their heads, both Lomadia and Nilesy began to fade from sight. They were still visible, but they looked a bit like ghosts. In the hours before twilight, they were unlikely to be spotted and less likely to be pursued by anything.

“Let’s go!” Nilesy threw open the door and jumped onto his broom, instantly soaring up into the sky. Fishbone watched him leave from the threshold, then wandered back into the kitchen and laid down on a mat in front of the oven.

Lomadia stepped outside with her pack and her broom and waited until Hoot flew out to close and lock the door. She placed the broom in midair and it hovered obediently while she climbed onto it. Hoot perched himself on the back while Lomadia balanced herself and took off after Nilesy. As he was nearly invisible, this may have been difficult if Lomadia hadn’t known where he was headed.

It barely took a minute of flying through the air to reach H.A.T. Corp. Lomadia could see a blurry form circling one of the trio’s unnecessary metal and marble and glass spires. 

Overhead, a pair of policemen soared across the sky on rocket shoes. Lomadia and Hoot both watched them pass. They were only traffic patrol, keeping the air clear of unlicensed fliers. 

They couldn’t do anything about invisible witches. Lomadia laughed quietly as she caught up to Nilesy.

“Let’s go,” Nilesy was repeating impatiently.

“Alright then, get off your broom and let’s get inside.” They had to move quickly, before that patrol noticed the weird blurs above H.A.T. Corp that were not moving like heat waves emitted from a chimney.

They landed on a small ledge and pushed on one of the large glass panes, which soon flashed a light blue and slid to the side, opening a doorway into the topmost level of H.A.T. Corp Real Estate’s establishment. Lomadia and Nilesy both jumped down to the floor several meters below, Hoot following closely behind. Their fall was slowed by the magical boots they both wore. Once they landed Hoot perched himself securely on Lomadia’s shoulder.

There was a faint echo from within the dozens of pipes that jutted up along the walls on either side of the near-empty room Nilesy and Lomadia were in now. 

Lomadia walked over to one of the clusters of pipes and removed the cover from the part that projected voices. 

“--if they’ve already been fitted with any sort of sustainable energy machines, we’re going to take them off, sell the equipment, and get them to buy an energy plan from one of our companies.” Trottimus was explaining tiredly. 

“I don’t like how you’re speaking to me,” Ross’s voice echoed.

Another soft, tinny sound traveled along the pipe, but it was too faint for Lomadia to pick up.

“Excuse me,” she said clearly into the pipe. “Can we get someone to come up here?”

“Oh shit,” Alsmiffy said faintly. “Go take care of customer service, Scrott.”

Lomadia added, “Or we could make our way to the book room ourselves. We’ve been here often enough that we know where it is.”

Nilesy leaned over Lomadia’s shoulder and chimed in with, “We promise we won’t touch anything of yours. Unless it’s shiny.”

“And if it looks expensive.” Lomadia finished.

They stepped back and listened to the three businessmen argue over each other, presumably throw and drop things, and then finally make their way upstairs to the attic.

Ross and Trott wore sour expressions as they emerged from the staircase, but they instantly assumed their usual business faces when they approached Nilesy and Lomadia.

“Well, you know the drill,” Trottimus said. “One way out of the shithole of Craftia, seeing as you’ve still got your magic send-me-home sticks.”

They began herding Lomadia and Nilesy down the stairs, much like spiders would invite unassuming butterflies to their complicated business proposals. 

“Come along,” Ross said, following after Nilesy, probably to ensure the pair of witches wouldn’t wander off and ruin or steal something--as if they would! “We’re about to hit our walk-in hours. The welcome rooms must be absolutely perfect before then.”

“Didn’t you still have those two girls who kept the place nice for you?” Nilesy asked.

Trott’s face fell briefly. “Crystal just finished her shift and Chastity has moved on to bigger and better things,” he said mournfully. “She’s left a gap in all our hearts.”

“Good riddance,” Ross muttered under his breath.

Nilesy and Lomadia exchanged knowing smiles.

“I hope you three have been keeping up with Nano,” Lomadia said. “Last time we saw her, she told us that she hadn’t seen your faces in weeks.”

“Any complaints about the way we do business or maintain relations must be submitted through our public relations team,” Trott informed Lomadia quickly.

Lomadia looked over her shoulder at Ross.

“You’ll need to submit a formal letter requesting a complaint form within five to eight business days of the incident,” Ross said. “Is your window still valid?”

“Why don’t we teach Nano some witchery?”

“No!” Both Tross and Ross said in unison. Trott regained composure quickly, walking faster down the steps and across floors to get to their ‘secret’ basement. “That will not be necessary,” Trott said in a strained voice. “We’re setting up a new policy of visiting weird explosive-obsessed women living in dilapidated ex-alchemy towers outside Craftian walls twice a week. Smiffy’s going to be enforcing that starting this week.”

Lomadia shrugged. “If you say so. I’ll spread the news to Nano, if you haven’t done that yet. I’m sure she’ll be delighted.”

They had arrived at the basement, where a row of books on lecterns rested, all closed. Trottimus went to the first book and opened it. The pages within emitted a dark blue light, rippling with a mystic energy. 

“Have a nice trip.” Ross said absently, already returning up the stairs.

Lomadia and Nilesy approached the book and prepared to touch the open pages. 

“Remember, if you have any problems, tough luck.” Trottimus said, following after Ross. Out of the corner of her eye, however, Lomadia could see him waiting on the stairs. She placed her left palm onto the cool molten surface of the book’s page and felt her body being swallowed by the magic. Hoot’s little hoots echoed in her ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Hat Films so much and I really need to write them more.


	31. Lomadia, third day, ninth hour

As always, Nano was delighted to discover that Lomadia and Nilesy had come by for a visit. Lomadia liked to split their time between catching up with Nano as well as making sure they got what they came for. 

After they left their brooms near the exit, Nano pulled her goggles off and smiled widely, leading Nilesy and Lomadia upstairs to a room with better lighting. Hoot remained on Lomadia’s shoulder, softly hooting every so often.

“We’ve brought you some nice food from our garden,” Lomadia said as they ascended. 

“Oh great! My farm has been doing pretty well too.” Nano said. “I’d show it to you, but I don’t want to attract the monsters and have them stomping all over my crops again.”

“How are the magical seeds?” Nilesy asked. 

Nano shrugged. “I don’t think I’m as good at magic as you guys. They’re doing well, but they’re not all glittery like you said they should be yet.”

Lomadia frowned. “Well, that’s odd. I’ll go ahead and give them a quick look when we’re heading out to our little spot in the forest.”

“Maybe it’s the soil?” Nilesy suggested. 

Nano gestured for Nilesy and Lomadia to sit down at two of the four chairs around her little table. Lomadia set her bag on her lap and took out a number of bundles wrapped in soft blue cloth. She set them on the table.

“I’ve been growing them in normal dirt with some ground up skeleton bones.” Nano explained, searching in her food storage chests for something to offer Lomadia and Nilesy. “Maybe it’s the leftover magic from the necromancer who animated them that’s messing with your magic on the seeds?”

Lomadia and Nilesy exchanged glances. “We grow most of our plants and flowers and whatnot in Sips Co’s fertilizer. I’m pretty sure he’s putting some skeleton bones in there, plus assorted dead bodies, and the occasional zombie. Maybe he’s got some other enchantment on it?”

Nano returned to the table with a bowl of strawberries and a small teapot painted with birds. “They still grow plenty quickly.” She stepped away again and came back with three cups and poured out the tea.

“We’ll check them over just the same,” Nilesy said. 

Lomadia pushed the bundles closer to Nano, then took her cup. “There’s a few of our potions in one of those. They’re all labeled. Some of them are simple, like healing potions. And some are a bit more special.”

Nano’s smile widened in delight. “Oh, you two are so sweet to me!”

There was a brief flash of color at the corner of Nano’s face. Lomadia blinked and tried to look for it again, but it was gone. Hoot bumped his beak against the side of Lomadia’s face. She sipped at her tea and kept watching.

What could it have been…

Nilesy continued talking, “Lom’s also put some baked things and sweet things and tons of bloody apples from the tree that won’t stop dropping the damn things in the baskets around its trunk.”

“Apples!” Here they were again, a few tiny purple particles that appeared near Nano’s eye and floated away until they vanished, like sparks from a fire. “Your apples are the best, guys.” Nano laughed and the purple particles appeared once more. “It’s kind of funny, seeing as you’re sort of like evil witches but you make the absolute best fruits and vegetables and magical plants I’ve ever encountered.”

Nilesy huffed. “I take offense to that, Nano. We’re not evil.”

“We sacrificed a living human last week, Nilesy,” Lomadia pointed out, finally looking away from Nano’s face. She pulled the crown off a strawberry as Hoot began rubbing his beak against her cheek again. “I’d say we might be right on the verge of being called evil.”

“But we sell flowers--”

“Oh sure, and that makes it all better.” Nano picked up the bowl, now finished of strawberries, and returned it to her little sink. “Has anything interesting been happening?”

Lomadia shook her head. “Not much new to report since the last time we were here. What about you? Have you been making anything fun?” 

“You told us you were going to make a new type of explosive last time we visited,” Nilesy said. “How is that coming along? You’ve been blowing up more nasty mobs and monsters?”

Nano sighed. She closed her eyes and leaned onto the table surface. Twice the amount of purple particles appeared this time, and they remained floating around her face for a few seconds longer. Nilesy suddenly looked from Nano to Lomadia. Lomadia nodded.

“I ran out of all my explosive parts. I think Trott or Smiffy might give me some more in a few days, but until then, I’m just playing around with different ideas. And taking care of the garden, or course!” She sat up again and prepared herself to get up from the table. “I could show you the progress I’ve made on it since you’ve been here, then you can get to the forest before it gets too dark.”

“Sure,” Lomadia said hesitantly. “Ah, Nano? Have you been sick or anything since we last saw you?”

Nano looked confused. “I don’t think so? Sometimes I sleep late because I’m tired, but I don’t think I’ve been sick at all.”

Lomadia forced a smile. “Well, then. That’s good to hear!”

Nano began leading them back down to the ground floor of the tower. Hoot took off after her, circling back to fly around Lomadia’s head periodically. Nilesy exchanged a worried glance with Lomadia as they left. 

“Something’s up.” Nilesy said under his breath, so that only Lomadia would hear.

“I know.” Lomadia whispered back. “But I can’t imagine what kind of magic it is.”


	32. Lalna, fourth day, first hour

_He knows the purple-black threads whipping around Rythian are magic. They’re beautiful. They shred the creepers apart before the monsters even realize they’re being attacked. Within seconds, the threads have eliminated all of the mobs that were following after Rythian and their blood stains the grass. His friend is shaking as he pulls his scarf up to cover his neck and lower face again. He wraps it tighter around his face._

_Lalna’s mind is racing. This magic is unlike anything he has ever seen. Why hasn’t Rythian showed it to him before? Excited, he pushes himself off the ground and crashes through the bushes to the mossy patch that is now littered with creeper remains._

_“I didn’t know you could use magic like that!” Lalna exclaims as he runs._

_Rythian jumps and twists around to glare at Lalna. Lalna stops running about a meter away from his friend. “What are you doing here?” Rythian demands. “Don’t you know what I meant when I said that you needed to run and hide? Were you trying to get yourself killed?”_

_Lalna is stunned momentarily. He followed Rythian because didn’t want him to get hurt or die. He’s just a kid, just like Lalna. Why is Rythian angry?_

_“I promise I was hiding, Rythian. I came after you when I thought you were done.” The smile splits his face again. “But that magic! That was amazing! What type of magic was it?”_

_Rythian fidgets. “It’s just normal magic.”_

_“Why did you never show me it before?”_

_Rythian’s eyes narrow. He surges forwards, into Lalna’s personal space. Lalna steps back, only because he is still confused and not because he is intimidated by his overly dramatic friend._

_“You can’t tell anyone about this, Lalna,” Rythian says..._

_...Rythian has left again._

_Lalna is sitting in his cellar, surrounded by several opened liquor bottles. He looks at the design on one of them. Inside the bottle, a small blue flame sets the rest of the contents on fire. He watches the liquid burn and he feels colder._

_There is a distant sound of the door opening upstairs that he would have missed if there was any noise in the house. Lalna drags himself up to see who it is, although he knows there are only two people who carry a key to his home. The other one hasn’t come to his home in a long time._

_It hurts to see Rythian, angry and bitter as when he stormed out several days ago. Even though Lalna doesn’t look at his face, he can feel the glare. He walks into Rythian, wrapping his arms around his freezing coat and burying his face in his scarf. It smells like Rythian, but it also smells like someone else._

_“You’re drunk,” Rythian accuses. He doesn’t hug back._

_“You came back,” Lalna whispers into the cloth._


	33. Ridgedog, fourth day, fourth hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -shoves more characters into the fic-  
> There's a reason for all of this, I promise.
> 
> Also, this chapter mentions accidental harming of animals. Be warned.

“Alright,” Ridge said. “Try this setting.” He slid his chair back to give Bebop more room.

Bebop carefully unlatched the birdcage with steady hands and left the door slightly ajar. The bird inside flapped its wings cautiously. Bebop froze, then reached inside the cage with one hand. All but one of his mechanical fingers curled inwards, and he paused, waiting to see when the bird would react.

The bird flapped again, bent down to smell the mechanical hand, and eventually hopped onto it. It stopped once it was on Bebop’s hand, tapping on the metal surface with its beak. 

Slowly, Bebop drew his hand back. 

“What can you feel?”

Bebop shrugged, a gentle clinking sound from the metal plates along his back. “I can feel the weight, but that’s it. Approximately 172 grams.”

Ridge was intrigued. “So your artificial nerves are still picking up some signals. I wonder if we can get them to do more.”

Bebop moved his other hand to the bird and waited for it to flap at him again before he carefully touched its head. 

The bird flew off his hand. 

Instinctively, Bebop’s hands shot out to grab it again. Ridge followed the motion in dismay. 

“Do I need to get the next--” he began, but stopped.

Bebop had indeed seized the bird out of the air, but for once, he hadn’t crushed it to death this time. His fingers had stopped squeezing just in time to leave the bird alive. The bird was panicking now, so Bebop let it loose and it flew off to the other side of the lab.

Bebop’s half-fleshy face was lit up with delight. The little light in place of his right eye was shining brightly and his skin was pulling at the places where it connected with the metal plates. “I didn’t kill it, Ridgedog!” Bebop said excitedly. He clenched and unclenched his hands, letting out a small creaking sound as the joints moved. “They didn’t overdo it this time!”

Ridge mirrored his smile. With any luck, his collection of zombified birds would now be limited to the three dozen that were flying around in the topmost floor of one of his unused towers. He still had no idea what he was going to do with those. He couldn’t let them go; otherwise, someone would inevitably panic about dark mages reviving illegal necromantic arts. 

It wasn’t like Ridge learned necromancy just for the damn birds, or for raising zombies and setting them loose outside of Craftia like some necromancers. He wasn’t really a bad guy.

Bebop was flexing his metal hands experimentally, watching the pieces slide smoothly in their joints. 

“You think you can work on shaking hands and holding glasses without smashing them?” Ridge asked. “If you’re having better control in your grip and sense of touch, we might still be able to go to that thing in a few days.”

Bebop shot Ridge a sly look. “We’re still going to that anyway. I want to get out of this house and surprise all those assholes who thought I was going to die or spend the rest of my life as a crippled guy stuck in a bed.” He stretched his arms up and out, and Ridge listened to the soft clicks of the metals plates and joints working just like they should. 

“Do you still want me to hide some kind of cool weapons into your forearms or your side?”

“Of course I want that!” Bebop exclaimed. “As long as it doesn’t mess with the nerves and organs you built.”

“Do you think I would be so stupidly incompetent as to make a mess of you now, after all the work I’ve put into you?”

Bebop chuckled, and somehow that sound carried more ghost echoes from the lung that Ridge had replaced. He wondered briefly if he should fix that, or if Bebop was fine with it. “I don’t think you would make a mess of all of this, but I know that you might be tempted to add something completely useless just to be funny.”

Ridge gasped and pretended to be hurt. “I can’t believe you think I would do something like that.” He paused, just long enough to give his next question some more impact. “Wait, did you find that zombie bird that I gave a pair of longer legs to, just so it would keep falling over and bumping into things?” 

Bebop shoved at him and Ridge fell backwards, laughing and stinging from the almost-inhuman force.


	34. Parvis, fourth day, ninth hour

Strife was clearly lost in thought, as he had been sipping from his water goblet for almost two minutes. Parvis watched him in silence.

His lover had a lot on his mind right now. Will was constantly checking up on research projects at his company, funding outside groups to improve medical technology, sponsoring that children’s school of his, managing the supervisors of everything from his greenhouses to his house, and now he and Parv were finishing up the finer details of a prison break. 

Still, that did not excuse Will Strife from ignoring Parvis on a lovely dinner date on _Heart of Cedar_ , one of the finest steamboat restaurants in Craftia. The modern steamship was four levels high, and the main dining room for the restaurant was built into the third level. The lower levels were for the engines and crew and staff, but the uppermost level contained a ballroom with heavy curtain walls sealing it from the outside when they were drawn. It was made of fine cedar wood and steel, and adorned with gold, silver, magical glowing stones, an enchanted fountain that gently sprayed glittering white sparks into the air above the patrons’ heads, and an ever-present population of fireflies. 

A small orchestra played at the front of the boat. _Heart of Cedar_ smoothly traveled along the small river that cut through the city, passing colored light posts and trees planted at the river’s sides, as well as buildings painted with a variety of murals and frescos, a plethora of boat docks securing vessels both large and small, portions of parks and gardens and wealthy homes. 

The Parvis that still liked to act like a young adult without responsibilities with his cousins wouldn’t appreciate the experience, but this Parvis enjoyed it. This Parvis--the Alex Parvis who loved to watch Will Strife until he did something completely embarrassing so that Parv could remind him of it for years. It was pretty, the food was addicting, and the place was exclusive to people related to one of the former noble families or one of the most respected aristocratic families in Craftia, unless a person wanted to wait eight months or longer for a reservation.

Strife was still staring at the scenery off the side of the boat.

Parvis sighed, stood up quietly, and began to walk away from the table. It might be fun to go ask the orchestra to play something different. At least it would kill some time until Will started being attentive again. He could always make a fuss about Strife’s mood, but that would inevitably turn out badly for Parv.

He had barely walked away from the table when his waiter appeared at his side.

“Sir, do you need anything?”

Parvis shrugged. He began to walk again.

“Would you like a special magical display for your table, or a song to be played for you and your date?”

He paused. Then he smiled as he came up with an idea born from a memory of Sparkles’ attempts to teach him something about upper class living. 

“Can I make a small change to our dinner order?”

The waiter’s friendly demeanor never faltered. “Of course, Lord E--”

“Parvis. Alex Parvis.” Parv said firmly.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Parvis, sir. What would you like? I can inform the kitchens right away.”

“Replace the meat entree with chateaubriand.”

“Certainly. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Parvis shook his head and turned to return to the table. “That’s fine. Thanks.”

He sat down across from Strife again. His beautiful, brilliant date still had his head in the clouds, although he was mechanically finishing off the plate. What a waste, if he wasn’t actually tasting all the hard work the chefs put into it.

Parvis concealed his grin. They would have one more course, and then Will would be pulled out of his trance by the arrival of the restaurant’s most popular dish for proposals, weddings, anniversaries, and all of the other lovely celebrations for lovers. That would force him to remember that he was there to be with Parv, not to be stuck in his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My week of hell is finally done. I feel bad that this is being posted so late in the evening, but today was busy.
> 
> Also, I apologize again for my obsession with food. I'll try to tone it down a bit.


	35. Trottimus, fourth day, tenth hour

Smiffy had said that Nano was usually asleep at this time, as she had taken to an unusual version of nocturnal activity. Mobs, monsters, and a few non-threatening nocturnal animals were still roaming about outside the tower. As long as the tower remained lit, anyone on the inside was safe. 

That is, if one did not consider Nano a threat to one’s safety. Nano, the loose cannon who had the potential to be more threatening than Smiffy and who was currently trying to build explosives with all the knowledge she had gained from H.A.T. Corp. At the moment, thankfully, she hadn't taken the initiative to amass the information and resources at her disposal to become a tiny lady of mass destruction. Assuming, of course, that she wasn't feigning ignorance when she asked amateur questions about how their machines worked, how to build things needed for survival, or how to perform simple alchemical processes. Still, her fascination with deadly things was a concern.

Lomadia sent a message via her Notch-damned magical owl several long hours after they left to see Nano through the portal room. The witch’s owl managed to get inside and poked at Trott until he finally woke up and tried to murder the bird with one of the weapons he always slept with. But the owl had just left its note and flew away dodging bullets.

That message contained a problem that none of them wanted to deal with.

_Dear H.A.T. Corp,_  
_I fear that Nano has been experimenting with a dangerous type of magic or science while unattended. I don’t recognize it, but perhaps Trottimus or Alsmiffy might have some idea? Nano is unaware of its effect on her, and I worry that prolonged exposure might be very damaging to her health._  
_I don’t know what it could be, but I suspect it might be purple. Sorry I can’t give you any more help. Let me and Nilesy know if there’s anything we can do to help her.  
_ _Lomadia_

While Smiffy wanted to wait until morning so they could properly interrogate Nano, Trott thought it might be safe to take a quick look at Nano’s science/magic fusion lab, just to see if they could get some of the facts before they had to face her and her irrational threats to their health and lives.

So here he was now, sneaking into Nano’s tower in the first hours after twilight. Although, it shouldn’t really be considered sneaking when they were the ones who leased it out to her with the expectation that she would pay to live there by mining for materials they needed in their extensive ore-laden caves below the tower. He crouched low to the ground as he climbed the stairs, listening for any sign that Nano might have heard his arrival.

Either she hadn’t heard him or she was ignoring him, because he made it to her sad little excuse for a lab without conflict or confrontation. Normally, this place was a horrendous mess befitting of a temperamental child, with potion stains and simple machine parts and frayed wires scattered everywhere. At least tonight, the rocket launchers leaning against a messy unused desk were empty of ammunition and the racks of ammunition and spare weapon parts were low. 

It might mean Nano was holding onto the weapons up in her room. Or maybe she actually was low on equipment. 

Trott ventured a little deeper into the lab, looking around carefully in the darkness. There was nothing much to see. The moonlight coming in the single window was blocked by equipment and boxes stacked precariously high.

And then he saw it. Silhouetted against the window, illuminated by the faint moonlight, there was a large glass tank full of something viscous and dark and faintly glowing purple. Or was that just the light?

“What the fuck?” Trott whispered. He drew nearer and tapped at the glass cautiously. Instantly the liquid inside rippled and formed a lump that somehow shaped itself into something like--

Trott was out of the lab before he even realized he was running. Halting at the entrance, he moved so that he could just barely see the tank. The liquid inside looked normal again, though it was still glowing or sucking in the moonlight or doing whatever evil possessed purple shit did.

“Notch. That’s got to be some disgusting kind of magic,” Trott murmured to himself, racing down the steps to return to the city through the book.

He was going to have to get Alsmiffy to look at this mess. It was too soon to decide whether or not to call Lomadia or Nilesy, but if the two offered to help with anything, Trott would have no qualms about that. Just as long as he didn't have to go back into that dreadful room and face the magical monster in the lab.


	36. Sips, fifth day, fifth hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added "Body Horror" into the tags, although I'm not sure that's what this is. I don't know what else to call it though.

This product developer might have repeated his name at least six times since Sips came into the room, but it would never stick.

“No, Mr. Sips, it’s Yardley. Dr. Yardley.”

Sips still wasn’t listening, as he was occupying his attention with taking up handfuls of dirt from the five-gallon vat on the table. He squeezed the dirt in his hand, then let go and watched some of the clumps of dirt fall back into the vat. The dirt stained his fingers a dark brown.

“Yeah, so Bentley,” Sips said. “This is all really nice and good and I love your growth comparison potted pansies, but can you give me the important info?”

“The cost of materials? And my name isn’t Bentley.”

“Okay Backyard Barbecue, let me hear them.”

The developer cleared his throat, bending over a stack of papers. “Well, it’s a seventy thirty formula, for the most part. Seventy percent Sips Co. Dirt Recipe 69.”

Sips chuckled. Classic Recipe 69. It was actually the fourth recipe developed, but he changed the number soon after he decided the recipe was perfect. Sixty-nine was the only number that could have been used for the absolute best brand of dirt in all of Craftia and its surrounding areas. The optimal blend of organic matter and inorganic matter, plus just enough moisture to encourage bacterial growth but also inhibit mold growth. And all that other stuff that the scientists explained to him when he was waiting for them to get to the important bit.

“The other thirty percent is Fertilizer 17. To 100 percent Recipe 69, we have 40 percent local organic--uh--”

“Bodies?” Sips prompted. “It’s not like I’m going to report you for admitting we’re putting human remains into our fertilizer, Barbecue. I told you to do that.”

“Yeah,” the developer murmured. “40 percent blended b-bodies, 12 percent of the blend of un-enchanted necromantic organic matter, and then some of the trace minerals and additives that we add to every fertilizer. All in all, it amounts to an estimation of twenty coppers per pound. But that’s based off the data we have right now as far as payment for the bodies goes. And the shipping of the zombies and skeletons to the processing factory.”

“So you need to tell marketing that we need to do whatever it takes to get as much money out of this product as possible.” Sips said. “You and them put together a budget and see me. I like the dirt, by the way. It’s beautiful and fucking disgusting to know that human bodies makes the goddamn flowers grow bigger and more gorgeous.”

He looked back at the rows of comparisons between this newest fertilizer and other strains of Sips Co dirt, along with some competitors’ brands. The competitors’ looked terrible, as always, while each sequentially more expensive version of Sips Co dirt produced healthier and bigger flowers. The flowers in this recipe, Growing Soil with Fertilizer 17, blew the rest of the flowers away like a champion.

Sips was done. He waved offhandedly at the developer. “I’ll talk with you later, Henley. Remember, we’re all about making big money. Big money and big fun.”

“Yes, sir! Although… my name is Yardley--”

Sips nodded and let the door slam behind him.


	37. Strife, fifth day, seventh hour

“Tonight is the first showing of your cousin’s newest play.” Strife said matter-of-factly. He was doing his best to ignore the fact that Parvis had decided to tag along today while he went to check up on the latest gold standard for Strife Industries’ lightweight jetpack. He was finding that it took significantly more effort to ignore the fact that Parvis got bored after watching the scientists point at every single piece of a deconstructed jetpack while another scientist held the only other prototype excitedly, and that Parvis decided to express his boredom by massaging Strife’s back.

It was comfortable. It felt really, really good, but it was distracting. “Are you still listening to me?” Strife demanded, just as Parvis began working out another tight muscle at his shoulders and he bit back a sigh.

“I’m hoping you’re going to moan and tell me ‘Please, more, Alex~’ and lean back into my arms,” Parvis said seriously. Strife frowned. “Aww, you tensed up again. Yeah, I’m listening to you. We’re going to break in tonight before the baddie police guys notice we stole stuff from the library and get nastier and suspicious.”

“You are going to break into the prison using that unholy thing you showed me yesterday. But before that, we’re both going to show up at the theatre, where half of the aristocrats and all of the nobles in Craftia are going to be. There’s going to be dozens of people who will see us there together. Solid alibi, although I doubt the police are going to suspect anyone in the upper class districts for a while.”

“So I sneak out during my own cousin’s play and I break a little hole in Angel’s Keep and I take the Undesirable home, then sneak back into the play?”

“He told me that the time between the first act and intermission is usually fifty minutes. Intermission is twenty minutes, but you’ll have to be there for that. After intermission, the second act tends to pick up the pace more, so you would have a little over forty minutes before the end.” Strife tried to look over his shoulder to see Parv’s reaction, but his head was pushed back so it faced forwards again.

“I’m not done with you yet, Will.” His hands moved downwards, towards the small of his back, and Will let out a breathy sigh. It always felt so good when Parv--

“You’re usually able to bring back victims for your altar within twenty minutes,” Strife said, interrupting his trailing thoughts about Parvis. “The prison isn’t too far from the theatre, but home is another story.”

“I’ve picked up a lot of people from places around the theatre,” Parv countered. “That includes the time of me finding a person, charming them, and carrying them back.”

“It’s a narrow window…” Strife said. Damn, it really was a narrow window. Even worse if Parv had to spend precious minutes explaining to Rythian why he was there, or if the servants were in the way, or if Parv had to hide from anyone at the theatre, the prison, the streets… 

But today would be such a perfect opportunity. “If you’re not back at intermission, I could always--”

“You could ask someone to make sure nobody disturbed you and made sounds that makes it seem like we’re having hot, passionate sex during the intermission,” Parvis suggested.

Strife felt his face heat up. “Um. P-Parv. While I’m sure a lot of people assume that is our relationship, I’m not quite, ah, comfortable with expressing that in public.”

Parvis’ fingers and knuckles and palms kept digging into Will’s back. He relented and slumped over his desk, allowing Parvis to go lower. Suddenly the hands left and Parvis was sitting behind Strife, straddling his lower back. Parv’s arms embraced Will snugly from behind. 

“I trust you Will. You’ll keep us both safe. You’re smart. And I’m smart too. I’ll make sure I’m not caught. No matter what, I’ll make it back to you. Together, we’re invincible.” 

Parvis kissed Strife’s neck and laid his head on his shoulder. 

Strife closed his eyes. Even with Parvis’ grisly powerful blood magic items that could stop working at any moment when the altar ran dry, he trusted him.

Maybe he would drop a few of the vials of his blood that he had been putting aside into the altar before they left for the play tonight. Because trust was stronger with active support.


	38. Nilesy, fifth day, eighth hour

It was always easier to pick a victim in a crowd. It was easy to slim down the choices and determine which one wouldn’t be noticed missing for a few hours. At least, they wouldn’t be noticed missing right away. 

He couldn’t pick a person who was around an animal. He couldn’t pick a person who might overpower him if the charm wore off. He couldn’t pick a person who was a part of a group, unless that group left the person alone for enough time that Nilesy could lure the person away.

He spotted an old woman sitting on the edge of a fountain. There was nobody around her, but Nilesy looked around scrutinously to make sure nobody was keeping an eye on her or walking towards her.

It seemed clear.

Nilesy fixed a charming smile onto his face and sat down next to the woman.

“Thank Notch it’s stopped raining. I was worried the city might flood if the rain kept going on.”

The woman shifted to examine him, and relaxed. She felt safe and perhaps relieved to have someone to talk to for a moment.

“It’s a shame we don’t get to see the sun as much as we did when I was young,” the woman said wistfully. “I remember seeing rainbows in front of every magic shop and house whenever it would stop raining and the sun came out. It was so beautiful.”

Nilesy nodded. “I remember seeing a bit of that when I was a kid.”

“I would let my children go to this nice gentleman witch’s candy store down the street and pick up little sweets that could catch bits of rainbows,” the woman continued. She sighed, making a soft noise like a dry breeze. “But that’s all gone now.”

“That’s a shame.”

“He stopped putting magic in his candy too. He was trying to do something different to the candy when we stopped seeing rainbows so much. But the Magic Police came by and told him he would go to prison if he kept feeding unknown magic to kids.”

“Really?” Nilesy said, amazed. “Even something as harmless as rainbow candy is illegal?”

“Sometimes I really miss seeing all the amazing things witches and mages would do before the laws. Taking out all of the dangerous magics also eliminated some of the really beautiful ones.”

Nilesy nodded. He reached into his pockets. He grasped the splash potion of invisibility and gently uncorked it while keeping it upright. With his other hand, he took a tiny black glass skull and slipped it out of his pocket.

“Look at this.” Nilesy said, holding it up so the woman could see it clearly. “It’s a pretty type of magic. Nothing quite like your rainbow candies, so sorry about that.” 

Like an obedient puppet, the woman looked straight into the tiny eye sockets of the skull. Immediately, her posture relaxed and she let out a sleepy sigh. 

“Follow where I walk, okay?” Nilesy ordered.

“Okay,” the woman whispered. 

“Also, don’t speak anymore.” 

The old woman nodded.

Nilesy stood up and helped the woman get up off the fountain’s edge. Holding her soft hand in the same hand that he still held the skull, he led her out of the busy crowd which hadn’t noticed the brief flash of witchery. As they turned around the corner of a building, Nilesy pulled the potion out of his pocket and shook out the contents on the ground as he and the woman walked over it.

They disappeared instantly. Nilesy couldn’t see the woman anymore, and he knew she couldn’t see him, but he held her hand securely. She wasn’t pulling or making a sound, so he allowed himself to relax a little. 

Nobody had seen him charm the woman or turn invisible. 

Nobody would see her ever again.

Keeping to the sides of the street where nobody was walking, Nilesy began to walk the woman back home.


	39. Rythian, fifth day, tenth hour

Rythian could feel an unusual pulse of magic in the prison. It didn’t feel like the usual people who came by. It didn’t even match the feeling of the person he guessed was an aristocrat or some other noble--the person who came by a lot when the last of the Undesirables were brought into the prison after him.

No, this magical signature was different. It was moving too much to be someone from the government. Perhaps it was an inmate who got his hands on something he shouldn’t be touching?

That was interesting to imagine.

The magical signature was coming closer. Lower. As if it were passing through levels almost instantly. Rythian backed away to a side of the cell, watching his ceiling as if he could somehow see through it to figure out what was going on. 

The roof of the cell crumbled, spilling a massive amount of shattered pieces of stone into Rythian’s cell. He was glad he had moved, as some of the chunks of warded stone were large enough to easily break bones if they had landed on him. The lifestone would eventually heal him, but it would be a long and painful recovery until then.

A long sigh sounded from the cloud of dust and spilling bits of stone. “Is this the bottom floor? I think I lost count.”

Cautiously, Rythian answered. “This is the lowest floor.”

A figure emerged from the dust. The person was wearing all black clothes, close-fitting to his sinewy, slender form. A black cloth face mask with a skull painted on it in white obscured the person’s face, but Rythian could still see intense, dark brown eyes.

“Oh really?” The young man--if Rythian were to guess from his voice--said, challengingly. “Yeah, I recognize you from the poster. Rythian, the Ender Mage. Undesirable number whatever, I don’t care that much. At least I got the spacing right!”

Rythian glanced up at the ceiling, where dust was drifting around the hole that this person had just come through. He wondered if he could somehow pull himself up to the next level. It might have lighter security than this level and he could try to get out from there. Then again, going off the magical pulses that originated from this person, Rythian guessed he may have just smashed through several floors to get here.

The man pulled his mask up a little, so Rythian could see his face. Nobody he recognized, fairly young, with an odd intensity emanating from his posture. 

“I’m here on a job,” he explained. “I’m busting you out of prison.”

A job… Rythian was instantly curious. A dozen questions rose to mind: Who was he? Who was the person to request the job? What sort of person would break into a prison to free a high profile prisoner? At once, he was interested in hearing more information, but he was also extremely desperate to get out of Angel’s Keep. He could bypass some of the specific details until later. 

“Great, whoever you are. Can you fly?” Rythian asked.

The man puffed up and his small smile widened. “My name’s--oh wait…” he broke off. “Uh, I’ll tell you my name later. We’re on a tight schedule. I’ve got to get back quick to keep my alibi.” The smile turned into a monstrous grin before he pulled the mask back down.

“And yes. I can fly. Hang onto me and we’ll be out of here in a second.”

Before the prison, Rythian might have hesitated. But, as unlikely and impossible as this thing happening right now was, this mystery person was his way out of the prison. He could be one step closer to slaughtering Lalna. 

Rythian walked over to where the man was standing on the rubble. Awkwardly, he held onto the man’s shoulders. The man wound a strong arm securely around Rythian’s waist. With one hand, he held out a fist-sized red crystal and pointed it at the sky.

There was a horrible lurching sensation of terrible ancient magic and Rythian almost panicked as the man’s magic launched them clear into the sky above the prison. They floated for a second, then began falling to the ground again. 

“Lean with me,” the young man instructed, and Rythian tried to follow the man’s movements while also remembering how he dealt with vertigo and motion sickness last time he was able to fly. It was a long time ago, but he also never flew this fast.

They were falling towards the roof of the police building and Rythian hoped that his prison break friend could avoid hitting the spires, but the man was pointing the crystal in another direction. That same disturbing sensation of old magic twisted around them and shot them upwards and away before they came too close to the potentially deadly roof. It was nearly impossible to follow the motions of the man, however. He was twisting with each lurch upwards, laughing madly. For now, it was all Rythian could do to hang on and not fall to his death on the streets and roofs below him.

“I’m Parvis, by the way,” the man shouted over the next rush of wind. “I work with a guy named Strife. We got hired by some weird person to break you out of prison. Strife will tell you more about that in a bit. I don’t think I’ll have enough time to take you to Strife’s house just yet, so we’re going back to the theatre.” To himself, he muttered, “Strifey shouldn’t be too upset, I think.” 

“Strife?” Rythian repeated. That name was familiar. He hadn’t paid much attention while he was in hiding before being betrayed again by that despicable bastard, captured, arrested, and thrown in prison to rot. 

“Strife’s a guy who does a lot of science stuff and other stuff too.” Parvis explained. They were heading into the middle of the city, over near-empty streets and buildings both lit and dark. The light was sparse and of course the moonlight was near non-existent under the perpetual cloud layer, but it still looked like pieces of the thin veins of the city, so alive with people and magic. Even the electric lights were comforting, and Rythian stared curiously as they passed over things he did not recognize.

How much had changed since he had been locked away? He was sure the laws were still in effect, but this Parvis was using a magic that Rythian couldn’t even begin to recognize. He was apparently working with a man of science. That idea brought new musings. What new technologies had been created since he was incarcerated? Lalna’s cursed creations and the innovations he last saw were developing faster than he would have liked.

Science… This Strife person... The Rythian of several years ago might have instantly resented such a person just at the mention of science, but now…

Lalna knew how much Rythian despised science. It would be the perfect place to keep out of sight while he planned how to carry out his revenge.

Meanwhile, flying over these beautifully concentrated clusters of magic and even the invasive metallic buzz of technology was amazing. It was like breathing fresh air after he had been stuck in a dusty cave for years. 

As the magic wrenched them up in another arc, Rythian took in a deep lungful of the cool night air.


	40. Parvis, fifth day, tenth hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short. Fuck. I'm going to post the chapter originally intended for Wednesday along with this one because I'm annoyed that this is so short.

Parv wasn’t expecting that Will would be so shocked when he soared in through the open window with Rythian. While the mage quickly let go and moved into a corner of the balcony box, Will froze in horror and gaped at the two of them.

After pulling off his stylish mask and tucking it into his pocket, Parvis moved to sit on the sofa with Will. He put a finger up to Strife’s mouth, closing it, and whispered, “Don’t talk yet. We have just a little bit of time until intermission, right?” He pulled his hand back and kissed Will on the cheek. “I told you I would be fine with time.”

Strife looked around frantically, from Rythian to the open window to Parvis to the stage. “So,” he said in a furious whisper, “You bring the newly escaped magical prisoner here?”

“Nobody’s going to look for him here,” Parvis pointed out. Of course, Parv had no intention of letting Rythian wander around and be seen by any of the theatre attendees, but he could at least take a break before he was inevitably hidden underground again. 

Parvis took a moment to figure out what was happening onstage. In the corner of his vision, he saw Rythian hiding himself in the curtains around the box in order to see the stage as well.

The rebel ex-noble had manipulated his sister into ordering a massive slaughter. The knights were conflicted, but some of them were eagerly marching into the slums with their weapons drawn. Music was playing and Parv knew some kind of song was going to start soon. Parvis’ eyes widened in excitement and he moved to the edge of his seat.

Will looked back at Rythian with a small frown. “You need to take him back right after intermission--”

“I know, Will.” Parvis complained. “Just shut up and watch this. I remember the story from what they told me, but I didn’t expect they would actually add the cool song I helped them write about the bloodbath.” 

“You would be interested in that, wouldn’t you,” Will murmured, but he didn’t say anything else after that. He just handed Parv’s formal shirt and jacket back so Parv wouldn’t look suspicious in his solid black heist outfit.


	41. Zoey, fifth day, tenth hour

From the outside, Angel’s Keep Penitentiary seemed just as tranquil as normal. The lights were sweeping across the premises just as they always did, on their erratic schedule. Perhaps a few more guards were out on the grounds, but it seemed peaceful to the casual bystander.

To someone who had watched the prison regularly for months, it was a chaotic mess. Several guards were running back and forth across the bridge to the police station, and there were slightly more lights than usual, sweeping in a searching pattern. If Zoey got a little closer, she was sure she might be able to hear the guards shouting to each other. If she got even closer than that, maybe she could hear prisoners trying to riot inside. 

The hole, like a perfect little puncture wound in the rooftop of the prison… it waited, inviting.

She would never have a chance like this again.

“Come on,” she said softly to the massive skeleton she sat upon. He rose up onto legs made of nothing but bones and held together by necromancy. Zoey held on tight to several backbones as the large dinosaur skeleton braced himself on the rooftop they stood upon, then leaped over the huge expanse of space onto a chimney, which instantly began to crumble under his weight.

“Keep moving, Teep!” Zoey encouraged. “We just need to get to the hole in the roof. I bet that haven’t done anything about it yet, and it’s our best way into the place.”

Teep’s giant dinosaur skull turned and the faint green light at his eye pulsed.

“Ah, I don’t think you can fit in it.” Zoey laughed, hoping she didn’t sound too nervous about this scary thing she was about to do. “You’re kind of big. But you wait on the roof and once I find her, we’ll get right back to you and we’ll be out of that horrible place.”

Teep shook his head. The chimney was barely holding together now. Several more bricks fell onto the roof below.

Zoey patted the huge dinosaur bone she was clinging to. He was just worried about her. To be honest, Zoey was pretty worried herself. It was a prison, after all. “We’ll get out just fine. Remember? I have that magic ring she got a few months ago. I can fly us out and then you’ll take us home!” She brushed her fingers against the side of said ring, secure on her right hand. 

The dinosaur finally jumped off the chimney, leaving an absolute mess behind him. He landed on a few more rooftops, leaving small craters on each, but finally, they were on the prison roof, dashing over to the neat little hole in the stone. They couldn’t hear any guards shouting that they noticed the massive dinosaur skeleton’s presence, but they might have just been too far away to hear. Zoey slid down Teep’s rib bones and together, they peered down into the hole.

A fairly even line of several more identical holes ran all the way down to what Zoey hoped was the lowest floor. If she had access to more levels, she had a better chance of finding--

“She told me in her letter that she could still see out her window, so…” Zoey said half to herself and half to her skeletal dinosaur. 

Teep gently bumped his giant skull against Zoey’s back. She looked up into his soft green eyes. 

“I know what I’m doing. You want to see Fiona again too, right?” The dinosaur nodded enthusiastically, but he also tried to lean down and stuff his too-big head into the escape hole. 

Zoey giggled. “That’s not going to fit, Teep.” She moved his head aside, and gave him a quick kiss on what she had determined long ago was his nose. 

“I’ll be right back,” she promised, and hopped down into the hole. She landed heavily on her feet, and was immediately grateful for their fall-cushioning enchantment. 

The prison was incredibly noisy on the inside, a jarring discord of prisoners of all genders yelling and jeering, but Zoey did her best to block out the fear that the noise evoked. She continued to jump down, deeper into the prison. At each level, she paused and looked around.

“Fiona?” Zoey whispered. 

The prison was huge. Fiona could be anywhere, and she might have been moved to a room without a window since she sent the letter. 

Zoey jumped down again, to the last floor with windows. She instantly felt something odd, sharp little pricks at her magic. It felt like the stones around her were trying to rip at her magical presence. She shivered and pulled a lump of raw magical energy around her like a blanket to avoid the feeling, but it kept tugging at her.

“This feels creepy,” she said softly.

“Who’s there?” A harsh voice echoed. Zoey jumped as a man pressed himself against the bars of the cell she was standing near. The man narrowed his eyes and leered at Zoey. 

“I’m looking for someone,” Zoey said cautiously. 

“Let me out and I’ll tell you everything I know,” the man promised, transitioning his dark smirk into something a little friendlier. 

Zoey considered it. She glanced at the bars of the cell and every inch of the metal spontaneously burst into intense red flames. The man shrieked and fell back into the shadows of his cell.

“Don’t kill me!” he screamed. 

“I’m not trying to kill you,” Zoey countered, but the man was cowering in the back of his cell, trembling. 

Zoey left the man behind, took the fire away from the metal bars, and began running along the hallway, looking from side to side for anybody who looked like Fiona. 

After a long tense moment, a different voice stopped Zoey in her tracks. “Is that—Zoey?”

Zoey stopped and spun around to see the source of that beautiful voice. Fiona—her Fiona, her amazing and perfect and sweet and loving Fiona—was standing just behind a line of bars, looking incredulously at Zoey. She appeared a bit rugged, but what could one expect after she had been incarcerated for four months, two weeks, and six days?

“Fiona! Me and Teep came to get you out!”

Fiona looked concerned. “Are you the one who made all this racket?”

Zoey shook her head. “Nope, that was someone else. It’s a good thing though, because I thought that I could sneak in during the confusion while the guards are trying to hunt that whoever-it-was-person down and sneak you out. I can tell you more soon, but just step back a bit and I can melt the door. Teep’s probably getting worried about us up on the roof.”

“The roof?” Fiona moved back and Zoey blasted the cell door with the same fire magic she used before, but this time, she concentrated it, forcing it hotter and hotter until the metal bars melted away. 

“Yeah, there’s a hole in the roof. That’s how I got in.” Zoey focused on the melted puddle of metal, and it quickly lost its extreme heat. “Alright, it’s safe,” Zoey said. She reached a hand into the cell, and Fiona took it.

Zoey felt a surge of warmth and happiness flood her at the strong grip of her wife.

“I missed you,” she whispered as Fiona emerged from the cell. Fiona pulled Zoey into a hug and Zoey felt tears begin to form at the corners of her eyes.

“I missed you too, but let’s hug and kiss later, love. You said Teep’s up on the roof?”

Zoey nodded and held onto Fiona for a moment longer, relishing the familiar presence. She let go and re-memorized Fiona’s eyes, her nose, her lips, her hair. “It’s just a few floors up. I can fly us up. I still have that magic ring you gave me.”

They started running back towards the exit, Zoey leading Fiona by the hand. 

“I guess you’ve found a use for it besides flying around the house, Zoey!” Fiona said, and Zoey never felt that her smile was more genuine.


	42. Sjin, fifth day, eleventh hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> I'm so sorry about the delay in daily updates! I'm super happy that people are still interested in this story. Regular updates will return very soon!
> 
> I've been working on making sure I have a stash of completed chapters in order that I don't have to leave this alone for half a month while I write and edit and perform my daily tasks as required of a crocodile. The story's been coming along well, but I can't quite guess how long the fic will be, since I didn't think it would get this long when I started planning it in August.

He got the call late at night. It was just an unproductive end to another unproductive day of hunting down victims of the vampire and scouring medical records for traces of magical charms. There just wasn’t enough information, or perhaps there was too much information that contradicted itself. One victim was charmed but he claimed to have been alert for the entire process and he described flying on a silver cloud with a vampire. Another pair of victims was certain that the vampire walked with them and drained them on the street.

Trying to determine how the attacker managed to move around so indiscreetly was another challenge. It was impossible that nobody had seen him move around yet.

If the attacker used blood magic, they was likely bringing the victims back to their altar, according to Kirindave. But the Magic Police didn’t know enough about blood magic, and it was impossible trying to talk to Chaos again. If they returned, the Undesirable would know that his words would have power over the Magic Police and he would never willingly give up the information they needed in time to catch the criminal.

And even with all of these revelations and deductions, Sjin still felt like he was far figuring out the identity of the vampire.

He was poring over _A Review of Criminal Annals by the Craftian Police, Volume 328_ again, re-reading the brief report that actually acknowledged blood magic as being real.

At least, it was real at some point in time.

_...We burned every book the seers found that explained blood magic. Thank Notch there were so few, even spread across the city. We refused to examine the contents of those damned books. Blood magic is an unholy practice that is better extinct than even to exist as a myth…_

The small metal soundbox on Sjin’s desk suddenly started emitting a series of loud tones. Sjin jumped in his chair, and moved over to answer the call. Not many people called this late, so it might be important. Or it might be Lalna again, drunk and whining about how much he wanted to see some guy who he still hadn’t named in all of his calls and conversations. 

“This is Inspector Sjin of the Magic Police.” Sjin answered into a speaker attached to the soundbox. 

“Detective!” It was a voice Sjin didn’t recognize. “Very urgent! There’s been an escape at Angel’s Keep. It’s an Undesirable!”

Sjin felt a chill run through his entire body.

An Undesirable was loose in the city.

“I’ll be right there,” Sjin promised, and ended the call.

Sjin rushed over to his dresser, where he had draped his uniform in a pile when he arrived home from work that day. His hand flashed with white light as he grabbed the uniform and threw it into the air. The clothes flew around him, magically fitting themselves onto his body and fastening securely. After grabbing his notebook, Sjin was out of his door in seconds.

He stared up at the sky and cast a new spell that lifted him up into the air. This spell was a bit tricky, requiring a great deal of concentration and preventing him from using any other spells at the same time, but he could move faster than he could if he had chosen to run. 

Sjin took off in the direction of Angel’s Keep, winding around taller buildings, steam stacks, and chimneys. 

After a minute of flying, he suddenly realized he hadn’t bothered to find out which Undesirable had escaped. That could make all the difference. Some of the magical criminals were significantly less dangerous, and some of them could cause massacres, uprisings, and absolute mayhem with their magic and witchcraft.

Memories of Chaos’ uprising flashed through Sjin’s mind and he shivered. 

“Please, Notch, don’t let it be anyone like that,” he whispered, voice lost in the cold wind.

Alongside the memories, Captain Cadwell’s voice rose in the back of his mind. 

_‘There’s no such thing as an Undesirable who’s not dangerous. Even if they’re dead, they’re too powerful. That’s why we need to burn them. Burn their bodies with all the secrets and spells, so nobody can bring them back.’_

Maybe Cadwell’s opinion had once made a lot of sense to the police and the government. But trying to storm Angel’s Keep once the Undesirables were rounded up with his fists blazing with golden fire magic was not the ideal way to execute those beliefs, and it effectively ended his magical detective career. Poor Cadwell was sitting in his own warded cell in Tercentennial Prison, the only other Craftian prison on the opposite side of town, for delving too deeply into illegal magic in his attempts to curb the magic criminal activity.


	43. Lomadia, fifth day, eleventh hour

The old woman was still in a daze, staring at her clasped hands while sitting on the cold earthen floor. Around her, the white symbols drawn onto stone slabs arranged in a circle gleamed in the light from the sunstones on the walls and ceiling of the basement. To the side, Lomadia sat at a stool in front of her cauldron, watching bubbling liquid slowly change color.

Nilesy hummed as he emerged from the garden with an armful of brightly colored flowers. “Alright Lom, I got the stuff we need.” He dropped the items onto the table beside Lomadia with a mild amount of care to keep them intact. With nothing else requiring his immediate concern, he organized them by type and made three small piles.

“Thanks, Nilesy,” Lomadia said, still focused on the cauldron. It was coming along well. If she was as lucky as she had been with her brewing skills lately, she might only have to make one batch of this potion.

“Almost done cooking?” Nilesy asked, peering over Lomadia’s shoulder at her work.

Lomadia leaned closer to waft some of the fumes towards her face, filling her sinuses with the smell of burning trees and lemons. “Ew!” Lomadia muttered quickly, backing away. “Yeah, I think this is close. In a minute or so, I’ll be able to fill the bottles and we can get started on the ritual.”

“Just a minute?” Nilesy repeated. Lomadia could just see him crossing his arms and examining the old woman in their ritual circle.

“How much longer will the charm last?” Lomadia asked. “I haven’t been keeping track.”

“Don’t worry your witchy head, Lomadia,” Nilesy said reassuringly. “I put another charm on her a mere hour ago, more or less. It’ll last for another half hour at the least.”

Lomadia smiled. “You’ve certainly improved since the first time we did this. Remember that, Nilesy? That gentleman you brought back broke out of the charm just as you got him down here.”

Nilesy groaned and Lomadia bit back a cheeky laugh. “I remember; you don’t have to remind me. I _remember_ that you had to stab the bastard and we had to hurry up to finish the ritual before he bled out.” Since then, both Lomadia and Nilesy had been extra cautious with collecting sacrifices for their darker rituals so as not to warrant suspicion from neighbors or nosy passersby.

“This is important,” Lomadia said gravely. “I want to keep Nano safe from whatever magic that stuff was. And we need a sacrifice to do that, as much as we don’t like killing random people for the sake of our own magic.” Lomadia stopped herself from discussing the morality of what they were doing and added, “She’s important enough that it’s necessary.”

Nilesy was silent. Lomadia didn’t turn around to look at him, instead watching the cauldron closely. “I know. I’m worried about her too.”

The liquid finally turned the right color. The bubbles began to subside.

“Alright, Nilesy,” Lomadia said, sitting up straighter on the stool. “Hand me bottles while I fill them up and take the full ones back. I think we can make a magical protection charm to last for a while with this amount.”

Lomadia and Nilesy worked fast, filling the bottles with the potion before it overheated or solidified or changed color again. They set the bottles—seven of them, all filled evenly—onto the table next to the other ingredients.

Pleased with their success, Lomadia took a moment to look back at the circle, where the old woman still sat, unmoving and quiet.

“Now let’s sacrifice this old lady to make that thing for Nano!” Nilesy said cheerily. “We can get it to H.A.T. Corp so they can give it to her and get back to bed with enough time to rest up for tomorrow’s business!” He pulled a knife out from his cloak and stood in front of the table with the flowers.

“That sounds kind of bloodthirsty when you put it like that, Nilesy,” Lomadia admitted. “Are you sure you’re not enjoying this?”

“ _Please_ , Lom. I’m a perfectly sane human being who runs a flower and plant shop with you. I also happen to be a witch who sacrifices human beings once in a blue moon.”


	44. Lalna, fifth day, eleventh hour

Compared to its usual serene calm in its security behind the police headquarters, Angel’s Keep Penitentiary was in a state of mayhem when Lalna arrived. He had chosen to fly to the prison, and the view from above was unbelievable. 

A sizeable hole had been smashed into the roof, and when Lalna hovered over it, high in the air, he could see that it seemed to stretch down layer after layer. If it really went all the way to the bottom, it would have been simple for whichever Undesirable had escaped to make his or her way out.

There was nobody on the roof right now, which concerned Lalna. If the guards didn’t monitor the escape route, anyone could get out. Angel’s Keep could lose more prisoners, or even more Undesirables. Then again, any escapees would need some way to fly over the yard and the buildings surrounding the prison while the guards were in a state of alarm. 

Lalna resisted the urge to fly straight to the hole and he opted instead for the bridge connecting the police headquarters with the prison. He was met by a single frantic guard who recognized his uniform immediately and ushered him inside.

One guard. How sloppy.

“D-Detective,” the guard said, anxiously. “The Warden’s inside. So is your partner.”

Lalna swept past the guard and strode into the prison, immediately walking down to the highest floor that housed prisoners. Guards armed more heavily than normal were running along the hallways, checking on the status of prisoners with clipboards and notebooks, banging on the bars with their weapons. Adding to the scene of chaos, the inmates were shouting, slamming their fists and palms on their cell doors, taunting anyone who passed.

“It’s the police! Ha-ha! Old Warden needs to call in help!”

“ _Magic_ Police, stupid.”

“That means someone magical got out.”

“An Undesirable?”

“Ha-ha! Good luck getting back an Undesirable, pig!”

Lalna ignored the taunts and stopped the next pair of guards who ran along the hallway. “Where is the Warden right now?” Lalna asked.

The guards looked nervous. “He said he was heading down to the cell where the Undesirable was. You know, to try to get a better idea of how the prisoner escaped. Your partner was with him.”

The other guard chimed in, “Most of the lifts have been shut down for safety. You’ve got to take the lift near the guard station. Someone will get you down there.”

“Thanks.”

The guards ran off, and Lalna continued down the corridor, more quickly now. The jeers and clanging and restless atmosphere continued to intensify as the prisoners saw him.

Within minutes, he was at the guards’ station and sure enough, a pair of guards was waiting. “Mister Detective.” One of them gestured for Lalna to follow. He was led to a lift similar to the ones at the station, but fitted with several security measures. The guard inserted a number of keys into a panel, leaving many of the slots empty. 

The lift lurched and began traveling downwards swiftly.

Neither Lalna nor the guard spoke until the lift stopped and the guard opened the door. Lalna felt thrilled and apprehensive as he recognized this level. He was here only days ago, although he arrived by different means and for a different purpose. 

“Not sure which cell it is,” the guard murmured. “But since the holes aren’t too far from here, it should be somewhere close in that direction.” He pointed down the corridor to the left.

The main hallway ran around the circumference of the prison, with the heavy doors to the individual cells set at regular intervals. The distances between each door to the Undesirables’ cells were very wide compared to above, and with good reason. These people had been deemed the absolute most dangerous people in Craftia. Their cells had a wide space for the assigned guard to leave food and necessities within reach of the prisoners, while still giving the guard enough room to feel safe. The stones here were etched with runes to suppress magic, and it was disorienting to feel such a loss of power. Lalna shook off the feeling, however. He had a job to do. He opened the first door he came across to see if Sjin and the Warden were inside. 

As above, his presence drew the attention of the prisoners, but these had a different reaction. 

“Oh, here’s another one. I wonder if the Captain’s going to show up,” a female witch said snidely. Lalna remembered her face from the wanted posters: a dark witch who summoned demons. Captain Cadwell and Bleeze were the ones to bring her to justice. She was leaning against her bars, staring hungrily at Lalna. He shut the door and left her behind, moving on to the next. 

“And now it’s the Magic Detective Lalna,” another witch drawled. He was one that Lalna aided in capturing: part of a dark coven that had sacrificed children and animals to create powerful familiars. “It seems that you’ve lost something, Detective.” He laughed, even as Lalna was slamming his door shut. “Die in hell!”

“Back again so soon, Detective?” Chaos’ voice echoed. Lalna didn’t bother making eye contact with him as he closed the door again and progressed to the next cell.

The Warden and Sjin were here. They stood at the unbroken bars of a cell, staring in silence. As Lalna entered, they turned towards him with grim expressions. The Warden cleared his throat and stepped away. “I’ll leave you two to this. But I’m going to tell you this now before you make any big decisions: I don’t want this getting out. The city isn’t to know who escaped, or even if there _was_ an escape. I trust that you can get him back.” He left via the door through which Lalna entered, grumbling, “Gotta tell my guards to shut the fuck up about this mess.”

“Who are we missing?” Lalna asked, peering into the cell and seeing nothing of interest except for a gaping hole in the ceiling.

Sjin spoke, uncomfortably. “Undesirable 31. Rythian.”


	45. Rythian, fifth day, eleventh hour

From what he had seen at the end of the first act, Rythian found himself wishing he could see the rest of the play. The story was compelling, the characters were intriguing, and the music was beautiful. A chorus sang a tragically haunting refrain while the narrator character chanted several verses to summarize the entirety of the first act. Perhaps Rythian was simply desperate for any form of human interaction and drama outside of the monotony of solitary prison life. Even so, the play caught his attention almost instantly, and the eight minutes he had just caught didn’t feel like enough.

Undoubtedly, it would be just as hard to see things like this now as it had when he was on the run from the Magic Police. He had been cursed to live in a world of shadows and secrets and silent fires lit in the dead of night.

Will Strife and Parvis left the balcony box together as soon as the curtains were drawn across the stage. The pit orchestra played on, but the lights in the theatre brightened and Rythian could see some of the other patrons in balcony boxes disappearing from sight, presumably to mingle and pick up refreshments and do whatever rich people did in large numbers. 

Rythian moved further out of sight. Hidden between several thick, heavy folds of a richly embroidered red curtain, he allowed himself to assess his new situation.

He was out of the prison. 

Escaping the prison was always step one in each of his plans to murder Lalna and the rest of the Magic Police. Right now, that was all that he really cared about. Maybe there were some people scattered across Craftia he had missed while imprisoned, but his fond memories of them had been long ago burned away by his endless resentment and deep desire for revenge. 

Parvis and Will Strife didn’t seem like they were going to turn him in right away, especially considering the unusual ancient magic Parvis used to break him free. Like the magics used by some of the Undesirables he had encountered, it felt too evil and malicious to be anything that the laws would allow. Meanwhile, Will Strife… well, Rythian wasn’t sure why, but he seemed trustworthy. He gave off the impression that he only truly cared about himself, though he certainly acted concerned for Parvis. To put himself in danger of crossing Angel’s Keep, the Magic Police, and the Craftian government--he must have a good reason for all of this.

Rythian wanted to place it as pride or greed, but it could be deeper than that... An act to spite the government?

And Parvis had mentioned that they were hired by someone?

Who would pay to have him freed from prison? He didn’t have any family, and certainly none of his friends and former lovers would have gone to that extent.

Rythian couldn’t think of any answers, so he would have to ask Will Strife and Parvis more about their employer later. That person might have left some contact information or a name that Rythian might recognize. From that, he would be able to determine whether he was truly safe in his new company. Regardless, whatever that person wanted from him, it would have to wait until he was satisfied with his revenge against Lalna and the Magic Police.

It might be hard to return to his former level of power, but he could always take a few shortcuts so he could build more powerful weapons sooner. It depended on what resources Will Strife and Parvis had and were willing to lend to him. Obviously Parvis was a mage, although he used the strangest and most disturbing form of magic Rythian had ever encountered. Strife was apparently a man of money and science. He could have some resources, but Rythian wasn’t sure how far he wanted to rely on science and technology. Rythian might have to focus on gaining Parvis’ support to build up his magical strength again.

The tone of the intermission music began to shift, and Rythian lost his train of thought, listening to the intense emotional finish of the first act merge into something like the beginnings of a mournful dirge. Slowly, as Rythian listened, the music grew lighter and brighter, until it had transformed into what Rythian assumed might be the main theme of the play.

Behind his scarf, Rythian allowed himself a small smile, enjoying the way the music could simply sweep him into its embrace and carry him on a journey into a fictional story with its characters and conflicts.

Rythian closed his eyes and ignored the low rumblings of chatter from the guests in the theatre and let the music carry him away from the memory of the prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rythian is so broody...  
> This chapter is a bit boring and SHORT, but we get to see Lalna again next chapter.


	46. Lalna, fifth day, eleventh hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy December! 
> 
> So now it's one month since I started posting this. Yay. :D I'm so amazed at how far I've come. So far, this fic has been one of the most enjoyable and interesting I've ever written. And all of you guys who are reading it: thank you so much! You have no idea how much it brightens my day to know that people are reading this clusterfuck of scheming characters and crazy plots. I mentioned at the beginning that I started planning out this fic during the first weekend of August. It was only days after Wizy finally tricked me into watching Yogscast videos. I got hooked _bad,_ man. And this fic is a result of that. I hope you're happy, Wizy.

Lalna gazed evenly into the cell. A perfect little hole in the ceiling and a mound of rubble on the floor. Besides those intrusions, it was a very basic cell. There was a bed on one side and a lavatory, a small shower, and a small basin on the other. And a dark gray mat on the floor.

“So this is where he lived,” Lalna murmured.

Sjin stepped into the cell and held up his glass scrying lens to observe the scene through it.

“I don’t think it was magic that got him out,” he admitted after a moment of pointing it at the walls and the hole. “The only trace of magic in here is from the wards. There’s nothing from Rythian or whoever got him out.”

“It was an outside job though,” Lalna said, peering up through the hole. It went all the way to the top. “And whoever did it knew exactly where he was, or they might have gotten very lucky.”

Sjin sighed. “He might have already escaped the city now--”

“He’s still here.” Lalna said firmly.

Sjin gave him an odd look. “Why do you say that?”

Because Rythian would come back to Lalna. He always came back to Lalna. This time would be no different. He might still be somewhat bitter about what had happened between them in the past, but Lalna was sure he would be over that soon. They would swing back into their game, and maybe this time, Rythian would accept that he couldn’t get through this on his own. This time, Rythian would accept his loss and return to Lalna on his own volition.

With Lalna was where he belonged.

Sjin was still waiting for an answer. Lalna shrugged. “He’s got a personal grudge. He always made things personal. He might come after us and try to hurt us.”

“Wait,” Sjin interjected. “You say this like you actually knew him.” He stepped in front of Lalna, breaking his intense stare at the hole in the ceiling. “Lalna, did you know Rythian before you joined the Magic Police?”

“Yeah. We knew each other for years. He’s a stubborn bastard and once he gets an idea in that crazy head of his, he doesn’t let it go.”

_‘If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you and I’ll kill them.’_

Lalna laughed. Sjin looked concerned. “If you knew him, do you know where he might go first?”

“I might have some ideas.” Rythian couldn’t go to the place he and Lalna once knew as home, seeing as he burned it down almost eighteen months ago. It was one of his ways of being rebellious. Etherton let Lalna move into his house, and then Etherton was poisoned to death by some angry friend or relative of one of the Undesirables a week after Rythian was incarcerated. So unless Rythian knew where Etherton used to live, he couldn’t find Lalna right away.

But Lalna had faith in Rythian. He was stubborn and persistent. He would come back to Lalna fairly soon.

“I wonder how he got out,” Lalna said, peering up at the hole again.

“First, don’t you think we need to help the Warden address the panic in this place?” Sjin said. “We could also ask him how he wants us to explain this. We’re going to have to let the people know eventually.”

Lalna touched the metal bars that had been holding Rythian in this place until that evening. They stung, pricking at his unbound magic just like the rest of the place. Experimentally, Lalna shoved a burst of pure magical energy into the bars. They sucked it up like a sponge and started to drain him more.

He let go of the bars and flexed his fingers, feeling the web of magic in his hand return to the fingers that had temporarily been bled of power. “The Warden’s handling it. If we’re going to inform the people--or even just the rest of the police force--that an Undesirable’s gone, we should at least make sure he’s still in the city. If he’s already over the walls, there’s not much point in making people panic over an unsecure prison and an escaped prisoner.”

“But he’s an Undesirable!” Sjin reminded Lalna. “And you said that he’s still going to be here, so...”

“I know that. And yeah, I’m sure he’s still here. But he’s weak and he’s going to be waiting until he can build up his power and resources again,” Lalna assured his partner. “There’s not that many places for him to be hiding. We just need to track him down before he can strike out at us.” He patted Sjin’s shoulder. “I’ll have him hunted down before a week passes, Sjin.”

He stood up and left the cell behind. There was nothing for them here. This was just an empty shell that his runaway Rythian had left behind. He was out in the city, somewhere, waiting for Lalna. Just like before.

Back then, they were always almost evenly matched. But Rythian had been in a prison for well over a year while Lalna was in the Magic Police, building up his power, day by day.

The Ender mage didn’t stand a chance now.


	47. Ross, fifth day, eleventh hour

“I’m concerned about the size of that rocket,” Ross said, watching as Trottimus ordered Stupid Bastard and Eric to carry the weapon parts from one side of the lab to the other. The two little golems obediently moved the parts, working together when they came across a heavier piece. Twat hovered at their dump table next to Trottimus, having been snatched away from Ross to help out on this new project Trott had dragged Ross into.

“Don’t you worry your little head, sunshine,” Trott replied, looking up from a workstation illuminated by three extra redstone-glowstone lamps. A heavily-edited diagram was pinned to the wall in front of him. Ross may or may not have drawn piles of shit and inaccurate penises on the borders when Tross was out of the room hunting down the golems. Trott was wearing goggles that rivaled Alsmiffy’s for being the absolute stupidest goggles Ross had ever seen. Although the workstation was getting covered in tiny metal shavings and bits of various types of gunpowder, Trott’s suit was as immaculate as ever. Constantly representing the professionalism that was H.A.T. Corp Real Estate. 

“This is just a prototype,” Trottimus continued. “The next one’s going to be bigger.”

“Weren’t we going to let Nano take care of all of the eventual destruction of Craftia?” Ross asked. “She’s got her stuff and they all work. We can be working on something else.”

“Nano wastes all the shit we give her on blowing up monsters for fun,” Trott said as he was hovering over a handful of wires and the trigger mechanism. “She’s got some sick designs, but they’re rudimentary and I can’t use our automated process downstairs to replicate half the shit she makes. We might as well come up with a few of our own and hand them over to Miss Demolisher of Cities when we’re ready for Operation Literally Fucking Destroy Our Competition.”

Ross watched the small elevator slowly bringing up pieces from the automated assembly lab downstairs. There shouldn’t be too many more. At most, Trottimus would be building three or four weapons over the next few days.

Eric and Stupid Bastard came back to pick up the next piece. Ross stuck his foot in the way of Stupid Bastard and the little golem tripped and fell onto its front, instantly going still. Eric stopped, reached down to pick up Stupid Bastard, and carried the golem over to the dump table. Ross kicked over Eric as soon as it had reached the table and it went still as well. While Trott’s back was turned and he still looking at those uninsulated wires, Ross snatched up both Stupid Bastard and Twat.

“If you don’t need any help with that, I’ll find Smiffy and see if he’s figured out what that magic shit is that Nano’s cooked up like a mad scientist,” Ross said idly, carrying the two golems back across the room.

“I might need you later, but go ahead, mate.”

Ross had almost shut the door behind him when Trott shouted, “AND GIVE BACK THE FUCKING GOLEMS, ROSS!”

“Lazy bastard,” Ross muttered under his breath. He put the golems on the floor and their empty eye sockets gradually lit up with a dull yellow light. They looked up at him expectantly. “Get in there and listen to Trott, the fucking twat.”

Twat pushed the door open just wide enough to return, but Stupid Bastard remained, waiting quietly.

“Get that damn fool something to eat, and then slave away in there again as quick as you can, you stupid bastard,” Ross ordered. The golem rushed away out of sight, and Ross left Trott alone. He would get the other golem sooner or later. They did their best, but Stupid Bastard had been given that name for his utter incompetence in completing tasks on his own. But if he was only fetching something, he might be able to get it right.

Ross pushed open the next door in the wood and marble lined hallway. The room he entered was cluttered, but there was certainly a method to the madness. A towering stack of frames wrapped individually in sheets of white cloth resided in one corner: paintings seized from former clients who didn’t pay off their loans. Some of them were rather pretty and Ross had hung them up in some of the rooms and hallways in the building. The rest of the space was taken up by boxes of other things collected during raids, including items that had looked valuable, collectible antique weapons, simple and complex machines. Really, all of this was just endless piles of junk that they snatched away from the former home and business owners in those last beautiful moments when the poor fools realized they had in fact lost everything. Selling all of these items off was just another task on Ross’s to-do list. 

They used to have a partner group that sold this stuff, but those gentlemen and women--equally as slippery as H.A.T. Corp--had unfortunately been shut down by the police just over a month ago for attempting to bribe an officer.

Maybe he could just hand some of it off to Sips along with the next weapons delivery. Sips had that amazing ability to make anything disappear. He also liked H.A.T. Corp, so he often gave them favorable deals and offers.


	48. Strife, fifth day, eleventh hour

If Strife thought it was stressful waiting for Parvis during the first act, it was somehow even worse during the second act. Moments after the lights dimmed, the audience fell silent, and the curtains concealing the stage were drawn back, Parvis flew out of the window again on his weird blood crystal. From his expression, Rythian was accepting this method of transportation far better than Strife had when Parvis constructed it after many a sleepless night with his altar, months ago.

Strife took a pocketwatch out of his pocket and turned it over and over in his hands, trying his best to pay attention to the play. Like before, he was having a difficult time concentrating on the plot. Unwanted images kept clouding his mind: of Parvis running into someone and not being able to kill them fast enough; of Rythian turning out to be exactly the dangerous criminal his records claimed him to be; of the blood altar running out and Parvis falling--

Crossing his arms stubbornly, Strife tried to shut his mind off such thoughts. Parvis was capable and he could take care of himself for an hour. The blood altar wouldn’t run dry unless Parvis flew around all night and used that terrifying new hammer to bring down a building and clad himself in that garish armor again.

Strife had given most of his staff the night off, and the few who remained always had their own interests and duties to attend to while Strife and Parvis were away. Unless Titus went against Strife’s request and entered either of their rooms to close the open windows, Parv would easily be able to sneak Rythian inside and deposit him in their concealed basement below the regular basement.

Maybe it was a bit cruel to hide the mage underground again so soon after freeing him from an underground cell at that prison, but at least Rythian would be able to do whatever magic nonsense he was doing before he was arrested.

Finally, after what felt like an hour of failing to resist imagining Parvis being forced into a confrontation with the Magic Police, Parvis landed heavily on the floor behind him.

Strife jumped and got out of his seat to check over Parv and make sure that he was fine. Once up, however, he froze. Parv didn’t really need to know that he was worried, right?

Parvis smirked.

He knew.

The arrogant jerk just strode over to Will with that face, posture full of confidence in the power he always held over Strife. He put his hands on Strife’s shoulders and leaned close. Will stared into those dark brown eyes, feeling like a stupid lovestruck teenager in one of the novels he used to read when he was younger. He couldn’t look away, but it had less to do with the part of Will Strife that was still a huge sap for moments like this in romance stories and more to do with the fact that Parv wore that same expression while he would order Will to lay still on the bed while he stretched him, drawing out every noise that was too embarrassing for any location but--

Parv leaned closer and kissed Strife chastely on the forehead.

“Relax, Will. Our pretty little jailbird is safe in the secret hidey hole above my magic basement. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Will grumbled, but Parv was already pulling him back down onto the seat. Strife ended up sitting in Parvis’ lap, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to argue about it. Parvis wound his arms around Strife’s waist and held him close to his chest.

Strife sighed and rested his head on Parv’s shoulder. His ear was pressed up against his lover’s throat and he could hear the pulse beating fast, gradually slowing down.

He found it more comforting listening to the heartbeat and aligning his own beats with Parvis’ than listening to the last scenes in the play.


	49. Sjin, fifth day, eleventh hour

Lalna was being no help at all. He had been infuriatingly silent and closed off during the investigation of the cell. Even when they left it to go check the roof to see if there were any traces of magic that might have been sucked up by the magical wards, Lalna did not provide his usual chatter and musings that normally sparked decisions on what to do next. Sjin strongly suspected that Lalna knew more about Rythian and his character than he was going to admit at this moment. 

But if Lalna felt that he could handle this escaped Undesirable on his own, then he could have the case for the time being. Sjin trusted him.

At least Lalna was motivated.

As Sjin thought on these things, the pair of detectives had made it up onto the roof, watched by a pair of guards who had a much better handle on the turmoil than the guards Sjin had encountered thus far. They leaned over the edge of the hole.

The damage appeared as if a cannon had been fired straight downwards, except each hole was almost identical in size and shape. There were no scorch marks, no residue of any kind, and no magical traces. It was just as frustrating and bewildering as the hole down in the lowest layer.

“What do you think was used to make those?” Sjin asked, nodding at the holes. He was out of ideas and he was hoping that perhaps Lalna might have seen or heard of something that could do this. At least, do this without leaving a magical footprint behind. Even cleansing the scene with a spell would leave something. But the scrying lens could find nothing except the protection wards.

“Someone knew where he was,” Lalna said after another of his long pauses. Sjin might have to get used to those if Lalna kept that up. He was thinking of something and it was maddening that he wasn’t willing to share his observations and deductions with Sjin. “Unless they didn’t care who they got out, but I don’t believe that’s the case here. The break-in holes are all mostly lined up. They weren’t guessing on where the cell was located.”

“Do you think the person who helped Rythian escape was someone who had access to the police files? The Undesirables’ locations aren’t ever made public, so if this guy really was aiming for Rythian, they would have to have some way of knowing.” That would be either a member of the police or a member of the government. They were already set to investigate aristocrats tomorrow night. While the Magic Police were generally given free reign, it wasn’t appreciated that they turn their powers against people in power.

“We’re not going to get anywhere chasing that side of the problem, Sjin,” Lalna said cooly. “I would look into finding things that can smash through stone, steel, iron, and magical wards. Finding out who has access to those things--no, _machines_. I’m also going to check the places I imagine Rythian would be hiding. In fact, I could do both.”

“You don’t think he’s left the city already?” Sjin said, perplexed. If _he_ were an Undesirable, he would try to get out of the city as soon as possible. After being hunted once in his life, surely Rythian knew the police wouldn’t let him escape without a fight.

“I told you, Sjin, Rythian makes things personal. He’s going to come for us, and he’s probably going to try to hunt down the rest of the old force.”

Sjin frowned. That might be a little difficult. Captain Cadwell was in Tercentennial. Etherton had been dead for almost a year. Bleeze might be a target, but he had sworn off magic for good and was now working for the arson department. He had taken his mother’s name and changed his appearance to avoid friends of Undesirables taking revenge on him. Zedock was still around, but they retired seven months ago, and they were living with a group of friends. It might be a good idea to warn them, although one of those friends was a witch who specialized in protection. That friend had stopped a number of assassination attempts before. Windlass might need protection, as she was still dealing with emotional and mental trauma while working in administration. She was very powerful when she left, but using her magic might ruin all the progress she had made in therapy. Sheridan had only retired four months ago, but she was terrible at keeping up with Lalna and Sjin. She could be anywhere right now.

But… if Rythian had a serious history with Lalna…

“Who were the ones to bring Rythian in?” Sjin pressed, hoping they could narrow down the possible targets.

“Me, Cadwell, and Etherton.” Sjin breathed a sigh of relief, but Lalna continued, “But he knew about all of us. Still, I think he’s going to come for Cadwell and me first. Maybe you too, if he learns about what’s been happening for a year now.”

Sjin felt even more uncomfortable now. “You think we should get the word out and warn everyone that an Undesirable might be coming after them?”

Lalna shook his head. “Not now. Not all of them, at least. Do _you_ want to be the one to tell Cadwell that prison wasn’t the best place for them?”

No. Sjin definitely did not want to face their old boss with that kind of news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry about those other police. Unless you want to. Most of them are not hugely important. Most of them are pretty irrelevant, actually.


	50. Kirindave, fifth day, twelfth hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry I haven't uploaded a chapter for a while. Thursday afternoon, I cut my right hand while taking the lid off a #10 can of tomato paste in class and I couldn't type like I normally do because the cut was in a bad location. I had been planning to add a lot more to this chapter, and it took a while for my hand to heal up enough so that I _could_ type.

The temporary burst of chaos at Angel’s Keep Penitentiary had long since quieted down when Kirindave managed to walk all the way over there. The lights had been shut off, the guards had all retreated back into the prison, and the hole in the roof had been magically sealed over. Presumably, the other holes in the prison had been likewise filled in.

It didn’t make any difference to Kirindave. He had seen all of the interesting action in his scrying pond when his Magic Police voodoo dolls began whispering scraps of Sjin and Lalna’s conversations.

After hearing Sjin panicking about Undesirables and the prison, Kirindave activated the spell on the little pond in the middle of his snapdragons and pansies. He explored the insides of the prison through the scrying spell on the water, looking for the method of entry and finding it just in time to watch two young women escape on a large skeletal creature.

Kirindave wondered about those two ladies, but he was more interested in what happened with his favorite Magical Detectives. Not that there were very many Magical Detectives left.

They lost an Undesirable. Too bad it was one of the mostly harmless ones. It would have been interesting to see some of them unleash their pent-up frustration and rage on the city. It had been too quiet lately, even with all of the ‘vampire’ attacks and the missing people. It was high time something beautifully turbulent shook the stones of Craftia.

Rather than trying to find a way to get closer to the prison than he already was, Kirindave took the two dolls out of a bag that was most definitely not magical and holding other possibly illicit items.

Lalna’s doll was whispering. “Know… places he would… investigate…”

Then it was Sjin, “We can’t ...vampire case… progress… the party… tomorrow…”

Kirindave hummed curiously. A party in two days. That must be the Crescent Honey Moonrise Ball. It was just another gathering of people who were important and people who thought they were important, but Kirindave still found some enjoyment in them. He had the chance to catch up with some friends who might otherwise find it difficult to put aside time to take up his offers of hospitality.

If the Magic Police were going to that, they were likely following up on suspicions concerning the blood mage.

That incomplete doll still waited at his house, waiting for him to add personal features to distinguish it from his other dolls. Even if the Magic Police couldn’t determine who was a blood mage, Kirindave felt that he could make a good guess.

The streets were still empty at this late hour, but Kirindave decided it was time to move on. The prison wasn’t interesting anymore, unless someone else managed to escape. For now, it was best to wait until the Undesirable or the Magic Police or the blood mage did something interesting.

With any luck, it would be very soon. With Kirindave’s backing, Sjin and Lalna would track down the blood mage quickly. And if they needed help with the Undesirable, well, his doors were always open to them. Their numbers were low and they had already come to consult him recently.

Just like the original founding members of the Magic Police, years ago...

_This office is small and bare, but the items and inhabitants within it already speak volumes to the careful observer. A giant map posted on one of the walls is marked with shimmering golden magical lines and crosses. Around the map, several of the nineteen posters of the Undesirables are linked to the marks. Four desks are pushed together to form a larger square table on one side of the room. The other side is cluttered with weapons both magical and made using modern technology. Another wall is portioned off into nineteen sections, each space filled to varying degrees with notes._

_And the people within… these are more interesting than the room. Captain Cadwell of the new Magic Police, a unit that will be solely dedicated to rounding up all of the mages and witches who are deeply ingrained in the magic that has been determined to be “too evil” for Craftia. Him and one other member of this new group, a short woman with midnight skin and a cloud of curly hair._

_Besides the motions required to fire a spell at the window to seal it tight, Cadwell has not moved. He appears to be staring in shock and trying to restrain his anger. Perhaps this is because Kirindave chose to fly innocently into the room through the open window, weaponless and defenseless to the naked eye. It may have been a bad way to greet these people with whom he needs to speak diplomatically._

_Kirindave still thinks Cadwell’s reaction is funny. This newly appointed policeman, this so-called overseer of magic, he is nothing._

_He has a lot of strength and plenty of experience in offensive and defensive magic, but he doesn’t understand how to examine mages._

_And right now, he seems furious that Kirindave would dare to approach him without making it difficult._

_“Captain, calm down,” the woman says, threading tiny pieces of her beautifully soothing green aura through her words. A witch, or at least someone with a plethora of knowledge of witchery practices and principles. “I want to hear what he has to tell us.”_

_“If you could just give me a moment,” Kirindave offers._

_Cadwell cuts him off. He takes a step towards Kirindave and stops. “Kirindave. There have been multiple testimonies of you performing many different forms of illegal magic. The list includes: animal sacrifice, summoning of spirits and ghosts, summoning of lesser demonic spirits, necromancy on animals, enchanting items in the public community without supervision, altering weather patterns,” Cadwell grows more confident as he recites the list, occasionally looking to the side at a place where Kirindave assumes some of the evidence against him has been collected or summarized._

_Cadwell crosses his arms and sneers at Kirindave. “The list is pretty fuckin’ damning, Kirindave, and we’ve got lots of people backing it up. Are you here to try to say it ain’t true?”_

_Kirindave holds up his hands in surrender. “Nothing of the sort. Captain, I am a man who loves to learn. Those forms of magic were simply a way to understand more about magic and about the world. Clearly, now that I know it’s safer for the city to abstain from them, by all means, I will clear my home of any trace of those. Items, books, magical residues, equipment.”_

_“If you destroy them, you’ll need to have one of us observing to ensure you are thorough,” the woman says quickly. Her beautiful brown eyes appear to flash with a faint green light for a moment. Is that a threat? Kirindave thinks about that notice yesterday. A picture of the new Magic Police: Cadwell the pale muscular man, and this smaller woman with her black halo of hair and odd green magical aura which had not been depicted in the drawing but should have… this woman’s name is… Windlass._

_“Officer Windlass, I believe?” Kirindave asks charmingly. “If you would like to accompany me, I would like to take care of that at once. Along with your superior, if you need him.”_

_Windlass and Cadwell exchange cautious looks. Cadwell surges forwards. “We’re both going, mage. Don’t think you can hide anything from us, either.”_

_“It’ll only dig your grave deeper.” Windlass explains._

_Kirindave considers that. “What if I offer you some of my more powerful magical weapons and resources? I know a lot of the other people listed as Undesirables will put up a considerable fight when you start after them. I would love to help--”_

_“As long as I live,” Cadwell growls, “You aren’t getting your name off the list. And you’re not going to--”_

_“We will accept,” Windlass interjects. “As long as you hand over anything we ask for, and you accept frequent visits from us to make sure you’re not violating the freedom we give you, we’ll take your name off the list. Is that a fair deal?”_

_It’s everything Kirindave was hoping it would be._


	51. Alsmiffy, sixth day, first hour

Smiffy didn’t know anything about healing.

Sure, there were basic potions, but he never concerned himself with those. Those were so simple and pointless that it was insulting to consider that he would waste his time with those. Simple potions for healing and strength and love and rejuvenation and night vision and whatever else the average person wanted were always available in at least four different brands from any magical convenience store. There was never a need for him to understand those processes.

Now, alchemy, that was something Alsmiffy loved. What makes a thing what it is? Break it down, make it into something else.

He couldn’t do that with people. At least, not with living people. He couldn’t put Nano on his workbench--even if she would cooperate for that--and study her chemical and magical and spiritual composition. He couldn’t pick out what was wrong with her using the things that were familiar to him.

“You’re going to have to talk to her, idiot,” Ross said through the pipe system, two rooms away and trying to sleep.

That was what Alsmiffy dreaded the most right now. “Mate, she hates all of us. You think she’s going to sit down and talk about her feelings?”

“I don’t give a shit about her feelings,” Trott snapped tiredly, two floors below. “I want to know what that abomination is that’s sitting around in her lab.”

“Who really cares if she doesn’t bring it here?” Smiffy asked, skimming through the Craftian Entrepreneur’s General Health and Safety Manual. It was required by the government that all businesses either had a copy of this on site or that they write their own health code. They hadn’t accepted the health code that the three of them wrote out, therefore, H.A.T. Corp Real Estate had this book.

Smiffy continued, skipping past unimportant, unnecessary, unwanted explanations and diagrams of how to extinguish a fire. “So long as that shit stays over in her tower. We can put a fucking lid on it if you’re so upset about it, Trott.”

“It’s fucking _alive_ ,” Trott argued. “It made this arm thing and it reached for me. If Lomadia goes back and sees that creepy purple feces, she’s going to murder us for not doing anything about it.”

Alsmiffy sighed and tossed the book aside. It was entirely unhelpful. “I’m not dealing with this anymore tonight.”

“Do you reckon we can burn it?” Ross muttered sleepily.

“Ross, you fucking pyromaniac, not everything can be solved with fire and explosives,” Smiffy countered.

“I don’t want to hear that from you,” Trott shot back.

Smiffy grabbed his wand, which had been lying on a chest next to his bed. He aimed at the pipes delivering Trott and Ross’s voices into the room. A bright orange burst of magic ignited the pipes and appeared to burn for a second, then solidified into a foamy substance that blocked their voices. He sighed in relief and laid back onto his bed.


	52. Lalna, sixth day, third hour

_This thing reminds Lalna of Rythian. Not just the normal Rythian, but the Rythian surrounded by dark purple magic. The Rythian whose eyes glow an eerie bright blue that flickers to purple when he uses the beautiful magic that he somehow hates. The Rythian that Lalna does not get a chance to see as often as he would like._

_It fits in Lalna’s palm and it remains solid, but it gives off a weird magical aura. When he holds it for a long amount of time, it feels like it has a mind of its own._

_It looks like an eye._

_Lalna puts it back in the box…_

_...Rythian’s eyes flash blue, then purple. Lalna is fascinated. That never happens when the scarf is still so tightly wrapped around his face. He imagines the powers Rythian can gain if he finds some way to use this._

_Those images are shattered when Rythian seizes the crystalline eye from his hands. It glows the same color as Rythian’s eyes and Lalna’s head pounds. Rythian throws it fiercely on the floor. The thing bounces and arcs back towards Rythian, as if drawn to him._

_Lalna shouts, “No!”_

_Rythian fires a blue-purple bolt of fire at the crystal and it shatters. The fragments dissolve away as Lalna watches in horror._

_“What the hell were you doing with that thing?” Rythian hisses._

_The rest of the conversation fades and Lalna watches Rythian leave again…_

_...“Somebody’s going to find out about the things you can do, no matter how well you try to hide it,” Lalna says. Rythian flips him over and grasps Lalna’s neck tightly. Lalna claws at Rythian’s fingers._

_“If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you and I’ll kill them,” Rythian says darkly._

_Lalna knees Rythian roughly in the stomach and the hands loosen around his neck as Rythian coughs in pain. He takes this opportunity to take hold of Rythian’s skull, yank him to the side, and slam him down onto the ground._

_Rythian lands with a meaty thud. He gasps and draws in a sharp breath. Lalna watches as blood begins to seep from a nasty scrape on the side of Rythian’s face._

_Rythian remains on the ground for a moment, then he throws himself back at Lalna. Blood drips onto the sheets, onto Lalna’s clothes, onto the purple scarf. Lalna can’t help but grin. He punches the bleeding wound hard, even as Rythian tries to strangle him again. Rythian hisses in agony and reaches a hand up to touch it._

_Lalna pushes Rythian backwards and he falls heavily onto the floor again, hitting the back of his head this time. Lalna follows after, pinning Rythian down by sitting on him and grabbing the ends of the scarf, pulling it down from Rythian’s face to rest tightly around his neck. He holds the ends firmly and watches in delight as Rythian fights for breath. The Ender markings on his face twist across his skin as they’re exposed to the light._

_He allows a bit of slack in the scarf and Rythian immediately takes in a deep breath. Lalna leans down and kisses Rythian. He holds Rythian’s jaw in place and kisses him until he finally allows Rythian to push him off so he can breathe._

_The game goes on…_

_…“I’m here to report a mage using illegal magic,” Lalna says. He is amazed at how easily the words come out. “An alchemist named Rythian. He uses Ender magic.”_

_Captain Cadwell of the Magic Police stares at Lalna with pursed lips and tight bushy eyebrows. “Ender magic? So that stuff ain’t just government made-up bullshit, huh?” He begins to write, and Lalna examines the report upside-down as Cadwell writes it._

_“I’ll give you all the details you need,” Lalna promises…_

_...Cadwell hands Lalna the badge. There’s not much ceremony for it being such a big deal. It is heavy in Lalna’s hands, but it feels just right pinned to his brand-new uniform._

_“I’ll show you the ropes, Lalna,” Cadwell says. “We’ve just got be to stronger and more organized than those goddamn mages and witches. I’ve already taken a bunch of them down with Windlass, Etherton, Sheridan, and Bleeze. But these last twenty-one bastards are gonna be hell.” He clenches a fist and glares over his shoulder at the posters._

_“It won’t be long if I’ve got anything to say about it,” he growls…_


	53. Nano, sixth day, fourth hour

Nano woke up with the immediate understanding that she had to move the lovely purple liquid. She changed quickly and rushed down the cracked stone stairs to stand in front of the tank, appreciating how the morning light filtered through the window and the translucent body of purple.

“I can’t exactly carry the whole thing,” she said to herself.

There were plenty of buckets lying around, but Nano was still not sure where she would be able to transfer this. She went to pick one up and dumped the small amount of remaining water in the bottom of the bucket onto the stone floor. It would evaporate sooner or later.

Nano got a small ladder and leaned it against the tank, then climbed up and looked down into the tank full of purple… stuff. Without the glass in the way, she could feel something like little magical waves coming off the liquid, almost like the aura nodes that Smiffy had taught her about a long time ago. This felt softer, more subtle.

**Hand full of sunshine.**  
 **Heart full of love.**  
 **Eyes full of moonlight.**  
 **Mind full of magic.**

“That doesn’t rhyme,” Nano murmured, just seconds before she forgot the words. She reached down into the purple liquid and touched it with care. She had felt the unique sensation of the substance before, when she first made it in this tank. It was warm and light, and it slid off Nano’s skin like oil off water, leaving her hand dry as when she first dipped her fingers into it.

She brought the bucket over the side of the tank and dipped it down into the purple fluid, filling it just below the brim with the liquid. As she lifted it up, she could feel a noticeable weight in in the bucket, but it was nothing like water or any other liquid Nano had worked with before.

Even all of the potions Lomadia and Nilesy would bring her could dissolve easily in water. Water-soluble. Clearly this pretty stuff wasn’t anything like it.

Nano climbed down from the ladder, and looked around the lab. There really weren’t any convenient storage containers in here.

“Where…”

She jumped slightly as she heard a familiar noise echoing slightly from downstairs. Someone had traveled through the magical linking book and had just dropped something very heavy and noisy onto the stone floor. That noise usually meant either Smiffy or Trott or Ross was dropping off some more supplies.

Nano glanced down at the bucket in her hand. She had to move it. Never mind the tank full of the stuff behind her; she just had to move this bucket out of sight.

Hurriedly, Nano made a beeline for the stairs, and took two steps at a time, returning up to her room at the top of the tower.

“Nano?” That was Smiffy. “We’ve got some shit for you. I’m not carrying it up because you’re a capable young woman who can lift her own damn boxes.” His voice grew fainter as Nano reached her room at the top.

Now, where could she put this where nobody would look for it?

“Oi, shitlord, you’d better still be in the fucking tower. I’m not fighting a wave of bloody monsters this early in the morning to say good day to you.”

Nano bit her lip and looked up at the rafters holding the roof of the tower together. They were just out of reach. She wished she hadn’t left the ladder down in her workroom. But there was nothing that could be done about that now. She glanced down at the purple liquid again.

Then she swung the bucket upwards and flung the purple liquid upwards at the ceiling. It splashed against the wooden rafters and stone ceiling above, but by some miracle, it remained there, stuck to whatever it had touched. Nano gazed at it, impressed. The hints of light coming in through the window made the purple liquid--or was it more like a gel--sparkle much more than when it had been in the tank.

Ever so faintly, Nano heard Alsmiffy’s voice again. “I could always take this crap back. Notch knows you don’t need any more explosives. I bet you have a hundred little garbage bombs lying around up there.”

“Just hold your fucking horses, Smiffy,” Nano shouted towards the stairs.

“Oh, so you _are_ here.”

Nano started back down the stairs, walking intentionally slowly to piss off Smiffy more. “Where else am I going to be?” she demanded. “Outside with all the dangerous animals and monsters? I bet you would get a kick out of that, wouldn’t you?”

“What, you out playing with monsters that are as fucked up as you are?”

Nano’s eyes narrowed and she stopped right between two floors, trying to remember where she left her cool longsword. “So _I’m_ the fucked up one? You three are the ones who run a corrupt business that scams anyone who walks through your door! At least I use my weapons for something useful. I shoot monsters and gross things that come too close to my home! Maybe I should shoot you too, Smiffy.”

“There’s no need for that. I’m being nice here, coming to see you--”

“Did Lomadia and Nilesy tell you to do this?”

There was a short pause, and Nano rolled her eyes, but continued down the stairs again. Those three were so impossible to deal with sometimes. They were so incredibly stubborn and they thought they were so cool for running a bunch of black market deals and operations. It wasn’t that impressive. From what all the people who came through their book said, it seemed like everyone had their own hidden scheme going on. Some people were better at others at hiding the traces, but what Trott, Alsmiffy, and Ross were doing was nothing revolutionary. Maybe their real estate plan was a little unusual, but there were much crazier plots out there.

“H.A.T. Corp doesn’t take direction from our customers. We consider relevant suggestions properly filed in our comment box every other Thursday when we’re not down with a sickness. We--”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up already,” Nano muttered. She had heard that before.

“That rude attitude isn’t going to improve your conditions any bit, Nano,” Smiffy said. It was much easier to hear him now. Nano only had a bit longer to walk before she could see him, probably doing something to the box he brought.

“I know that. I like it here.” Nano finally rounded another curve in the stairs and there he was, the douchebag, standing on a rather large wooden crate with his hands in his pockets. And, just like every time Nano saw him, he was dressed in a damn suit just begging to be scorched or stained, although he had his idiotic goggles on today. “Wow,” Nano drawled, “Are you trying to impress someone with those stupid things? Got a date with Trottimus?”

Smiffy grimaced and stepped off the crate. “First of all, that’s disgusting. Second of all, these are cool. Third, this is yours.” He pushed the crate towards Nano with his foot, moving it a ridiculously short distance.

Nano approached the crate and made a face of discomfort. “Am I going to break my back taking this up?”

Alsmiffy shook his head. “Just use the magic that I’m sure Lomadia’s been teaching you. Apparently you’re competent enough to grow magical crops and make disgusting dangerous purple living filth.”

A chill ran down Nano’s back. **They have seen.**

“What? That stuff’s not dangerous. I’m not quite sure what I can use it for yet, but it’s definitely not dangerous.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but he also remained where he was. Nano wasn’t sure why she felt threatened when his eyes--just visible past the goggles--looked towards her stairs. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want him poking at the tank full of purple stuff up in the lab. She didn’t know why she was so very certain that she wanted Smiffy to stay down here until she found a better place to transfer it.

“The box has some more things for your explosives,” Smiffy said. “Play with that to your cold heart’s content, and if you think something’s going to blow up prematurely, see if you can drop it on that purple abomination.”

Nano laughed teasingly. “Are you worried about me?”

“I’m not, but Trott still wants us to keep you alive so we can have you blow up buildings in the future.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet of him. I’ll see if I can send him a thank you card.”

Smiffy shuddered. “No, thanks. We don’t want anything from you unless it can make us money.”

“You can get lost at any time you like,” Nano reminded him.

For a moment, Alsmiffy looked like he wanted to argue. He tilted his head so the light reflected off the stupid goggles. “Yeah, whatever. I don’t like spending time in here anyway. It might collapse at any moment.” He opened the book and white light flashed around him.

“You guys set me up in here!” Nano shouted, hoping he would hear it before the magic whisked him back into the city.

“Jerk.”


	54. Rythian, sixth day, fourth hour

The room in Strife’s basement had no windows, but it was still amazingly comforting after living in that magic-deprived room for so long. When Parvis dropped him off at the elegant and beautiful and _symmetrical_ manor last night, he had offered: “If you want, you can spend nights in the room that connects through this secret passage. It’s my room, but I don’t mind. I can stay with Will.”

Rythian appreciated the gesture, but just being outside of the prison--outside of the magical wards, the horrid stone walls, the iron bars--it was _elating_. Flying through the air over the shadowed city pulsing with a heartbeat of all types of magic and witchery, occasionally pushing upwards through the layer of smog and seeing the stars and the moon far above, wound in a tiny embrace of a magic so ancient that it held both Parvis and Rythian like a very old man held a young child… It was everything Rythian never could have imagined while he was imprisoned.

Even here, in a basement just brighter than the cell, Rythian felt comfortable. This room, situated almost directly underneath Parvis’ rooms, carried within its bricks an echo of that ancient magic, along with cheeky flashes of younger, more familiar magics. Although here, the ancient magic that saturated the magical presence didn’t feel like the kind embrace as it had while they soared through the air.

Here, the magic was strong, and it gave Rythian the impression of old demons or old gods who played with life and bathed in the blood of the early humans.

None of that affected Rythian’s resolution to sleep in a comfortable bed for the first time in months. Annoyingly, he woke up around the same time that he always did at Angel’s Keep, but he could break that habit soon.

After wrapping his body in a soft black and gold robe left on the foot of the bed and winding his scarf around his face and neck, Rythian made for the door to the secret passage that led up into Parvis’ rooms. Strife had come by late last night while Rythian was investigating the furniture in the basement room.

Rythian emerged from a hidden door built into one side of the ornate brick hearth in Parvis’ bedroom. Heavy curtains blocked the most of the morning light from entering the room and retained most of the residual warmth from the fire, which had been reduced to embers and ashes. He looked around the room, taking in the beauty and intricate detail that he had missed in the dark last night. The room was large, flooded with shades of black and silver and blue. The geometrically patterned wallpaper, the embroidered curtains hanging along one wall, the bed which had been carved and painted to resemble a dark castle, the bedspread that was embroidered with ancient runes for power and protection, the chests and chairs and mirrors and tables all designed to match the bed. And of course, the carpet, which seemed out of place in the room. It looked like some form of extensive family tree depicted in symbols instead of faces or names.

Rythian left the bedroom and found the dressing room that Strife told him about last night. Opening one of the wardrobes, he found exactly what Strife said would be there.

_‘The servants here aren’t going to say anything, so don’t worry about being seen by them. Just make sure you’re not wearing anything that implies you were in a prison. I’ll make sure Titus fills one of these wardrobes with clothes that will fit you. I’m sure we have plenty of things that are your size.’_

_‘Do you do this sort of thing often?’_

_‘I don’t help criminals escape from prison, but I invite peculiar people to stay at my home on the rare occasion. My servants know better than to gossip to outsiders about visitors who don’t come in the front door during the day. I can see about getting you a real room tomorrow, if you’d like.’_

_‘...I would say thank you, but I still don’t know you.’_

_‘Save that for tomorrow too. I have one last thing I need to do tonight. Just get some rest and we’ll talk in the morning.’_

_‘So I have to trust you for now.’_

_‘Do you want me to give you the portfolio of who I am and what what I stand for?’_

_‘You and Alex both know who I am and I’m sure you know what I’ve done. You could at least give me some peace of mind.’_

_‘My name is William Strife. I am an entrepreneur and businessman, and I am the chief executive and managing director of Strife Industries. I tend to work more in the technological and scientific fields, with teams that develop technologies for travel, convenience, health, medicine, and recreation. I also manufacture and optimize weapons, but those are a bit restricted, as I have to file the patents with the government. You met Parvis--Alex Parvis--earlier tonight. He is my… uh… associate. He and I take requests for more unusual solutions for my customers outside of my business. Your situation is one of those.’_

_‘My situation? Someone hired you to break me out of prison?’_

_‘Yes, and the details are complicated. I promise to answer any questions you have tomorrow.’_

_‘Could I just ask one more thing?’_

_‘It depends.’_

_‘What type of mage is Alex?’_

_‘...He’s not a mage. Mages know what they're doing. He’s playing with things he doesn’t understand. Playing with potty mouth blood magic.’_


	55. Sjin, sixth day, fourth hour

“Male, highly successful or born into wealth, lives away from family, single, house with a basement, access to highly restricted information, probably psychopathic, likes attention, needs a better hobby than hunting people off the street and bleeding them over his altar,” Sjin read again. He stared at the list of the personality traits of the blood mage he had just read to himself and dropped it back onto his cluttered desk.

He felt like he wasn’t getting anywhere. That profile could fit any number of people. They needed something very specific, like what the mage vaguely looked like, or some kind of landmark the victim passed while being transported to the place where the altar was. He just didn’t know enough right now.

It might be time to call Sheridan or Zedock for some help. There was a very high chance that Zedock would tell him to fuck off, but Sheridan might be willing to step in. Lalna still hadn’t checked in yet, and Sjin doubted he could rely on him anymore now that he was infatuated with Undesirable Number 31’s disappearance.

Sjin glanced up at the posters on the wall. They were arranged in order of number, although several had been painted over with black when the criminals proved themselves to be more helpful than dangerous.

There was Number 31. Sjin examined the picture, taking in the cold eyes, the scarf that hid most of his face, the shadows that the sketch artist had wanted to put into almost every painting of the Undesirables...

“Do we still have Sheridan’s contact information?” Sjin asked Helene, the secretary. He didn’t need to mess up his mental image of what the blood mage would be like by diving into a new case that Lalna had all but claimed. For now, Rythian could be Lalna’s problem. He was already far more interested in the escaped Ender mage than he was willing to aid Sjin with the blood mage.

Helene looked up from her desk and blinked tiredly. “Sheridan? Um, we should. I ran into her last week and talked with her a bit. She mentioned she was still at the same place, though she’s been looking for a new spot to move into. So, the records she left when she retired should still be relevant.”

“Great.” Sjin said, relaxing. “Can you pull that up for me? I’m going to give her a visit to see if she’ll come with me instead of Lalna to the Crescent Honey Ball or whatever it’s called tonight.”

Helene left her desk and began rooting around in cabinets and on shelves. “Is Lalna busy?”

Sjin rolled his eyes and slumped back in his chair. “He’s got something else he’s interested in and I figure he’s going to leave me alone with the vampire case until he’s satisfied his new obsession.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

Sjin hesitated. The Warden didn’t want anyone knowing that Rythian had escaped. Helene was technically part of the Magic Police, but Sjin knew from experience that she had a terrible handle on her tongue when she started drinking. “Ah, it’s just tying up some loose ends from an old case what have just recently turned up.”

Helene leafed through a thick folder, dropping papers and notes onto the floor. “Yeah, it’s somewhere in here,” she mumbled.

Sjin got up and fastened his cloak around his shoulders again, then turned around to pick up the rest of his things from the desk. He left the archaic book from the library where he had earlier deposited it unceremoniously. It was no help at all. Trying to get information out of Kirindave or Chaos would help him more, although both of those criminals needed more intimidation to make progress. Sheridan was always better with intimidation than Sjin and Lalna.

“Here you go,” Helene announced, waving a moderately smudged and stained paper at Sjin. “It’s got her address, but I can’t let you take this out of the office. I don’t think we’ve got anything else with Sheridan’s personal info on it.”

Sjin grabbed a piece of paper and looked around for a pen, but Helene was ahead of him, writing down the address on a smaller piece of paper, crumpling it into a ball, and throwing it at Sjin.

“Hope she gives you the time of day,” Helene said. She knelt down on the ground to start cleaning up the mess she made.

Sjin caught the paper and uncrumpled it. That location wasn’t too far from the station. With any luck, he could convince Sheridan to help him out, and they could go over the details Sjin had collected with enough time to prepare for the Crescent Honey Moonlight Ball that night.

He left from the roof again, as he hadn’t bothered to return the rocket equipment yet. Although, he was still on the case, so there was still reason for him to keep these. But as he began flying over streets, people, and buildings, he couldn’t help but imagine that perhaps the person who freed Rythian last night had used something like this. It wasn’t any form of magic that his scrying crystal lens could identify, so it must be some form of technology, right?

Sjin shook those thoughts out of his mind once again. “Not my case,” he reminded himself. “That’s Lalna’s business. Lalna knows more about that.”

He spent the rest of the journey to Sheridan’s apartment thinking over the witness reports and the medical reports. Not a bite, but a blade. Knowledge of how much blood a person could lose and still be functional. Charms to hide places and people, but not voices. Egotism.

He didn't want to be unprepared to face this criminal when he finally tracked the bastard down. At least there were still former members of the Magic Police that he could ask for backup. He didn't have to do this alone.

Sjin landed in front of Sheridan’s apartment and climbed up a wooden and metal staircase zig-zagging at one side of the apartment building until he reached the third floor. The noise from the street below echoed off the face of the building and rang along the metal bars preventing people from falling off the ledges. Sheridan's door was the only door on this side of the building, and the space on either side of the door was filled with potted plants. Sjin recognized some of them: mainly medicinal herbs and plants, with a few large basil plants on either side of the door to give off a fresh aroma that combated the smoky smell rising from a nearby building.

Sheridan’s name was painted in simple font on a small sign on her door. Sjin reached for the door and knocked politely.

The door was pushed inwards by the taps. There were no lights on inside that could be seen from the crack that was produced from the small amount of pressure.

Sjin froze.

“Sheridan? It’s Sjin, from the Magic Police,” he called, hoping his voice was loud enough that Sheridan could hear.

There was no response. Cautiously, Sjin pushed on the door. Sheridan might just be out of her apartment and she forgot to lock the door. He didn’t have to assume the worst--

The inside of Sheridan’s apartment was trashed. Sjin stared in shock, taking in the obvious signs of a physical fight, the stains that were too rich in color to be from beverages, the scorches from magical spells, the small brown bloodstains on Sheridan’s polished wooden floor.

Unwanted flashbacks to finding Etherton’s body resurfaced in Sjin’s mind.

_Blood still dripping from the many deep slashes in his uniformed body, impaled on the iron star at the top of the statue..._

“Fuck.”


	56. Parvis, sixth day, fourth hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas guys! I'm working on speeding up the update pace again. Enjoy your holidays!

Even after Parv fucked Will until he couldn’t form coherent sentences last night, he somehow still was in one of the damn lounges drinking that nasty smelly hot beverage before Parv woke up. By the time Parv put on enough clothes that Will wouldn’t complain--much--and stomped down to find him, Strife had somehow also brought Rythian up out of the little basement. Or maybe Rythian found Strife on his own. It didn’t matter. 

Rythian looked like he felt out of place where he was sitting in one of the soft speckled armchairs where guests always sat. He was wearing something that looked so much nicer and more comfortable than the garbage he wore in the prison, although he was still wearing the scarf. Dark maroon trousers, dark gray vest, off-white shirt, pure white short cape, gray-black boots. Adding in the interesting hair, Rythian almost looked like he might belong in one of Strife’s social circles, but that scarf painted his whole image into some sort of rebel.

On the wanted poster, the scarf added an element of mystery and danger, yet here, it made Rythian look like he just didn’t want people to bother him.

Normally, Parv would settle into one of the armchairs next to Strife and he would snack on the things Genevieve brought in until Strife finished his gross drink and explained what he planned on doing. Parvis ignored that today and sat down on Will’s lap, forcing Strife to adjust himself to make room for where Parv was now reclining against his chest. 

“Good morning, Parv,” Will muttered, apparently resigning himself to Parv’s antics. That was heartwarming. “You’re finally up.”

“Don’t know how you’re up after last night,” Parvis said.

“I let you sleep longer because you were playing with a lot of draining childish magic last night,” Strife said. He quickly added, “ _Before_ the other thing.”

“What other--” Rythian asked.

Strife cut him off before Parv could answer. “It’s not important. But now that Parv’s here, I want us to answer your questions. You deserve to hear why we broke you out of prison and what is going to happen now.”

Parv wanted to see Rythian’s reaction to his boasting about sexually dominating Will, but it could wait for now. There was no reason to overwhelm the man when he might just want some clearer explanations. Now was the time for boring talk, and later he could even show Rythian his blood altar.

And he could ask him to maybe share some of his mage blood.

“Will’s got most of those answers for you,” Parv said. He pushed himself backwards more, fitting his body closer against Will’s chest and arm. Strife moved his cup to the small table next to the chair. 

“A friend of yours contacted me a few days ago with a request that we break you out of prison,” Strife began. Parv smiled as he felt the vibrations of his lover’s voice. Deeper voices were so much prettier than lighter voices. “She’ll want to see you soon, I imagine. There hasn’t been any news of your escape, so she’s still waiting somewhere in Craftia to hear that you’ve made it out safely.”

Rythian’s arms were crossed. “A friend of mine? Did she leave a name? What did she look like?”

“I think Strifey was more interested in her payment than her looks,” Parv said offhandedly. He felt Strife go still behind him. “The girl he talked with was just a representative, and she brought nether stars. You’ve got some nice friends, Rythian.”

“Wait a minute.” Rythian said, leaning forwards and frowning. “You said nether stars? And this is someone I know?”

“Well, I assumed it was someone you knew,” Strife said. “Who else would put out so much effort for--”

“I don’t know anyone who’s in a situation where they could just hand out nether stars,” Rythian said seriously. “The only people who would have tried to help me out of prison were the same people who likely faced charges for helping me avoid the Magic Police for months. They’re all just normal people. It would be impossible that they could do this sort of thing.”

Parv could almost feel how fast Strife’s mind was working now. How interesting. It looked like they might have a reason to keep Rythian at their house for a while. That would provide more opportunity to experiment with his blood. 

He cleared those thoughts out of his mind. There was no need to instantly think of the blood magic. That was progressing just fine with his current methods of gathering blood. Still, if Rythian wanted to contribute…

“Gaining the attention of the government was the worst thing for my situation,” Rythian was saying softly, looking distracted. “I don’t want to trust anyone without knowing what their intentions are. I only trust you now because I sort of understand what your motives are, at least concerning me. You understand, right?”

“Yes. Your situation warrants that caution.” Will said. “So do you want me to contact the person and find out if she wants to give me more information? Like where she wanted to meet you or if she could tell me about her employer?”

“If it’s not too much.”

“Of course not. And feel free to stay here until you decide what to do. The Magic Police might be going to your old friends’ homes already to see if they know anything about your disappearance from Angel’s Keep.”

Rythian nodded slowly. He stood up and walked over to Strife and Parv and held out his hand. 

“Thank you. Even if this started out as an undertaking for your own profit, I appreciate not being in prison.”

“I can imagine it’s nice seeing the smoggy sky.” Will said with a smile that was surprisingly friendly for someone he had just met. Parv allowed Strife to push him off his lap so that he could stand up and shake Rythian’s hand.

The two held each other’s hand tightly for a few seconds, eyes locked. Parv frowned. They broke the handshake soon, but something might have been rubbing him the wrong way. 

“Will, I’m hungry. Finish your boring businessy talking for later. Breakfast is more important.” He tugged on Strife’s sleeve, wishing the shirt and vest were wrinkled from sitting on Strife’s lap. But for someone who swore he didn’t touch magic when he could help it, it seemed like Strife used some sort of witchcraft or magic to keep Parv-made wrinkles out of his clothes.

He needed to work harder on that. He liked leaving an impression for everyone to see.

In the hallway, Titus tapped politely on the door. “Breakfast is ready for the Masters and their guest.”


	57. Lalna, sixth day, fifth hour

Pushing open a light swinging door to a pub, Lalna imagined how the atmosphere might be improved if there were a bell on the door. The inside was well-lit, and the colored windows provided some character to the aesthetic. A bell would just make it all better.

The pub was sparsely inhabited, with three elderly men at a table playing cards and another person sitting at a table rolling a glass ball back and forth. The glass ball was changing color, and Lalna instantly watched it, instinctively checking to determine if it was illegal or not. It reminded him of a toy he used to play with when he was younger… a colorful little thing that _he_ gave Lalna…

A man several years older than Lalna emerged from behind a curtain set in the back wall, between shelves of alcoholic stock. Lalna raised a hand in greeting, and was met with crossed arms and a hard scowl.

“Hello, Ravs,” Lalna said.

“Lalna,” the innkeeper said tightly. “What d’ya want here? Last I heard, ya got a place to live, so y’wouldn’t need th’place upstairs. Unless someone burnt that place down too.”

Lalna shook his head. He sat down at the bar, several seats away from the person playing with the magic orb. Said person seemed to have recognized Lalna’s uniform and quickly hid the magic item.

“I’m actually here to talk about Rythian. You guys used to be close, didn’t you?”

Ravs glared at him. “Get outta my place. I got nothin’ to tell a guy who betrayed my friend and condemned him ta life in a solitary prison cell.”

Lalna sighed and rested his chin in his palms. “So you’re still upset by all that? It didn’t have anything to do with you.”

“He’s still m’friend, even if ya’ve done yer best to keep him away from everythin’ he loved.”

Lalna bit his lip. Oh, Rythian and Ravs had been friends alright. That and a little more on more than one occasion.

“Nobody came smashing your door down when he was hiding with you,” Lalna pointed out. “I was the only one in the Magic Police who knew about your connection. To this day, they still don’t know anything about the fact that you two used to be close.”

“Ya think that’s a favor?” Ravs demanded. The three men at the table quietly pushed in their chairs, apparently leaving. “Y’still hunted one of my best mates down like he never meant nothin’ to you!” He fumed for a few seconds. “And what about you? Do they know that you were the one fuckin’ him until he got mad with you? Do they know that you reported him just for yer sick games?”

Lalna narrowed his eyes. “Do you think that Rythian was being completely truthful about what happened between us when he came here to bitch to you? I’m sure you always took his side and gave him free drinks and sweet words so you could take him upstairs and fuck him once he was drunk enough.”

Ravs’ hand twitched towards the gun that Lalna knew he always carried.

“Are you going to assault an officer?” Lalna taunted.

Ravs glared for several long tense seconds, then dropped his hand. “What th’fuck are ya tryin’ to get outta me?”

“Someone freed Rythian from Angel’s Keep last night,” Lalna whispered, although the pub was now empty. The last customer had slipped away while Lalna and Ravs had been locked in a glaring match.

Ravs’ eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“The prison is keeping it quiet for now because they don’t want to raise panic.” Lalna continued. “Sjin is wrapped up in a case that will probably take a few more months to sort out, so I’m going to take Rythian’s disappearance.”

“He’s goin’ to look for you,” Ravs said. Why did he have to look so _smug_ about it? “When he was staying with me, he went on all th’time about how much he wanted to kill you. Imagine how much he hates ya now.”

Lalna shook that off. Rythian couldn’t really want to kill him. They had been friends since they were kids, and they had been lovers—on and off, but that didn’t matter—since they became interested in sex. Rythian still loved him, or at the very least, he still cared deeply about Lalna. Years of mutual care and affection couldn’t be eroded by a few months apart.

“If he shows up here, I want you to tell me.” Lalna said.

Ravs roared in laughter. “I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’, ya slime. If Rythian is going to hide here, I’ll let him--”

“I can always report you,” Lalna threatened. “Have your license taken away; have your pub shut down. I could even have your place watched to catch Rythian the minute he tries to walk through your door.” Ravs was glaring in silence again. “But I’m not going to do that. Rythian isn’t going back to prison. He’s coming back to me. You can help me with that and I’ll be fine with him coming to see you whenever he wants.”

Ravs spat, “What is he to you: some kinda pet that ya keep in a glass cage? Keep him wild and pretty?”

“Are you going to work with me?”

“...Fine.”

“Thank--”

“Get the hell out.” Ravs interrupted. “Yer filthy police stench is keeping my customers from coming in. Ah’ve got a business to run. I know I have th’right to refuse service to whoever I want. I’d hope a cop would know that.”

Lalna shrugged. “Have a nice day, Ravs.” He got up and turned his back on Ravs and the bar. As far as he could see, there weren’t any customers at the door, but there wasn’t much point in talking with Ravs further today. This was all he wanted.

But Ravs kicking him out meant that he would have to find another place to eat and kill some time. He would have to meet up with Sjin again in the evening to head to the Crescent Honey Moonrise Ball; however, he had plenty of time until then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost the New Year! New Years is my absolute favorite holiday, so I hope all of you can find a reason to enjoy it, or at least a reason to smile, even for a moment. I love all of you and I wish you all the best in 2015!


	58. Lomadia, sixth day, sixth hour

The regular midday customers were gone and it was getting to be the time of day when business slowed almost to a crawl. Lomadia retrieved the magical protection charm doused in the potion from under the counter where they had stashed it since they brought it up from the magic cellar. Nilesy leaned over her shoulder to look at it, as if they had not stared at it enough last night. A carved wooden ring from their cherry tree, braided with steel and bronze threads, with a brilliant cut amethyst set into the center and held in place with alumite threads woven in among the steel-bronze braid. The amethyst didn’t give off light, but it gave off a soft but powerful aura, containing the power from the dark sacrificial ritual last night. 

“I’d best get this to Nano as soon as I can,” Lomadia sighed. Remembering all of the complications Trottimus, Alsmiffy, and Ross had been trying to add to the process of renting out the linking book, she added, “It might be best just to fly there invisibly instead of deal with H.A.T. Corp again.”

“Oh, but they’re so warm and welcoming whenever they see you,” Nilesy said. He smiled slyly and Lomadia rolled her eyes. 

“They’re warm and welcoming when they see me handing over payment. Then all the niceties are gone and they switch over to business mode,” she said. She shook her head. “Then again, they do care about Nano. At least, they don’t want their assets that are being managed by Nano to be ruined. I doubt they’d turn away something that can keep her from being badly affected by that terrible magical aura.”

“I think they’re good people too. Especially Alsmiffy.”

Lomadia pocketed the charm and rose up from her seat. “If they’re such good people, then you might want to be the one to take this over to them. Maybe we should send a basket of apples as well.” She smiled cheekily at Nilesy. “Have you learned to tell the difference between the enchanted ones and the normal ones without scrutinizing them for their magical presences?”

Nilesy gasped dramatically and stumbled back a few steps, narrowly missing a round table upon which was arranged a collection of small potted bulbs just now starting to emerge from the earth. “Lom, are you seriously suggesting we hex our friends?”

Lomadia resisted the urge to throw a minor hex at Nilesy. It would have been nice if she had the apples here. They were nice and throwable. “Just a harmless prank is all it would be,” she teased. “I’ve no doubt Alsmiffy would be able to tell right away. So if they ate them, it would be his fault, technically. Although it wouldn’t do anything to encourage them to check on Nano regularly.”

“Maybe they’re already doing that.” Nilesy suggested. He was now sitting on the edge of a sturdy table that was being used to display a few garden statues made by a fellow witch shopkeeper. The statues made for an interesting background behind Nilesy.

“Maybe I should figure out how those magical books work and just set up our own link to Nano’s tower,” Lomadia mused. She paced, walking back and forth beside the wall covered in small bottles and jars of all shapes and sizes and colors.

“Aren’t those books prohibited under the magical restriction laws?” Nilesy asked. 

Lomadia couldn’t remember. “It doesn’t have to be in plain sight, Nilesy. We can put it down in the garden underneath the garden. Maybe next to the little distillery.”

“Ah,” Nilesy said. “So we’re just adding to all the illegal things we’re doing now? Just imagine all the trouble we’d get into if someone went down there. It might be safer to put it upstairs. Even Clyde’s stable would be safer.” 

Lom was skeptical. Unbeknownst to Nilesy, she had started teaching the horse how to discreetly warn her of anything suspicious or threatening going on around the building and grounds, along with her owl and Nilesy’s cat, of course. Most of them were already magical, so Lomadia had figured that she might as well make them all even more useful. So hiding an illegal magical book with the horse might be a good idea, even if Nilesy was just joking around. 

“That’s not a bad idea,” she said. “But we have to figure out how to make those books first.”

“You could always ask them,” Nilesy suggested. He winked knowingly.

Lomadia burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s a good one.”

The bell on the door rang as someone entered the shop. Lom and Nilesy both turned to see who it was. Lomadia stopped laughing once she identified their new customer, however.

Alsmiffy was standing just inside the shop, glaring distastefully at the rows of bright flowers on a tiered table in front of one of the windows. One of the magical flowers twisted around to face him and lit up with a faint green light. He grimaced at it and moved out of its light.

“Oh,” Nilesy said, surprise in his voice. “What brings you here, Smiffy?”

Alsmiffy snapped back to attention and looked at Lomadia and Nilesy with a slight glare, almost as if he were about to accuse them of something. “I have a business proposal for you. It’s not what you think,” he added quickly. “I want to hire your services. Not the flowery shit. I need your witchy crafty skills to diagnose and cure Nano of that… whatever it is.”

Nilesy and Lomadia exchanged curious glances. “Is this a request from H.A.T. Corp or from you?” Lomadia asked.

“From me.” Smiffy said uncomfortably.

Lomadia walked closer to Alsmiffy and he moved a half-step to the side, apparently trying to keep distance between them. It was so interesting seeing one of them away from the others. Lomadia moved closer again, fighting the urge to smile at his discomfort.

“We were actually already working on that. Because we actually care about Nano. A lot,” Lomadia said evenly. “We even prepared something last night. It should keep her stable until we can find a way to get rid of the purple--ah... infection.”

Smiffy’s eyes lit up for a split second. Then he narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “Okay. So you’ll supply things like this and I’ll make sure you have access to the book. Can we discuss the resources and time you’ll be investing in this so I can work out payment?”

At once, Lomadia had a brilliant idea. “If you want to pay us for helping you help Nano, then we’d like a specific form of payment. Get Trottimus to set up a linking book here, in our house. It can go straight to Nano’s tower, or it could link to your room of books so we could take the book that’s already set up as a two-step method of reaching her.” She smiled now, watching Smiffy’s face contort with contempt for what she was saying. “It’s all to make this work faster and more efficiently, you see. We need to check up on her more often if we’re going to be doing this for you.”

Alsmiffy looked at the charm still in Lomadia’s hand. “You want me to get you a Myst linking book for a magical cure? Do you have any idea how complicated those things are? I don’t even know how Trott does--”

“We don’t know anything about this infection,” Nilesy interrupted. “Neither of us have seen anything like it before.”

“Since you came all the way out here to us, I’m going to guess that you’ve never seen anything like this either,” Lom added. “I don’t think you have much room to argue the price. At least it’s not diamonds or emeralds or gold.”

Alsmiffy chuckled admiringly. “You two are the creepiest florists in Craftia. Fuck. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider that proposal Trott offered last year?”

“No.” Lomadia and Nilesy said in unison. 

Nilesy said, “We’re perfectly happy growing flowers and gardening.”

“Do we have a deal?” Lom asked. It was so satisfying seeing Alsmiffy like this. He was irritated and annoyed at their high demands, but she knew he was desperate. Clearly, if Trottimus couldn’t or wouldn’t do anything about Nano, Smiffy would go to everyone short of the Magic Police to find what he needed.

Almost as if he cared about her.

How sweet.

“I can’t make any guarantees about whether or not Trott will set it up for you,” Smiffy said.

Lomadia smiled. “Well, then, you’d better ask him quickly.”

Smiffy glared. “I thought you liked Nano, Lom. What’s the big deal with trying to extort stuff from us in return for your help.”

“We’re not trying to extort anything,” Nilesy protested. “This is just setting up a system so it’s easier for us to treat Nano and get rid of whatever it is that she’s made in her witchy sciency tower of hers. You realize it’s hard for us to get there using the indirect method we’ve been using up until now.”

Smiffy’s scowl might have permanently fixed to his face at this point. “Just give me the charm and I promise—no, I swear I’ll make Trott put a linking book in here.”

Lomadia held out her hand. “What a pleasure doing business with you, Alsmiffy. I’ll be sure to recommend H.A.T. Corp to any witches I come across who need a quick escape out of Craftia.”

Smiffy shook her hand. It felt like he was hoping to break some of the bones, but Lom prided herself on a strong grip. She stared evenly into his intense green eyes and admired the distaste she saw within.

They released each other’s hands and Lomadia offered the charm. Smiffy took it and examined it.

“If this is just an ordinary protection charm—”

“It’s not,” Lom said forcefully. “Last night, me and Nilesy made a sacrifice to make a potion that would slow the progress of any infection, biological or magical. It should also keep her sane in case this infection is affecting her mind.”

Smiffy scoffed. “That’s assuming Nano was sane in the first place. She talks about blowing things up and killing me all the damn time. It’s your influence, I’m sure.”

Lomadia simply smiled again. “I don’t know anything about blowing things up. I had a feeling that you were the one who liked explosives. Or was it just an accident that the apartments in the Eighth Residential district sold by your business happened to have a terrible electrical fire two and a half months ago?”

Smiffy stared evenly at Lomadia. “Electrical fires aren’t the same as explosives, mate.”

“Of course,” Nilesy said. “My mistake. Sorry about that, Alsmiffy.”

“You’d best get that charm to Nano,” Lom said. “And don’t worry about that information; we’re all friends here. We’ve got just as much to lose here as your company does. Let’s all look after each other as fellow magic and witchcraft users, shall we?”

Alsmiffy forced one of his trademark smiles onto his face, although the mood in the room was as tense as before. “I’ll bring Trottimus as soon as possible to set up that book for you two.”

“Have a nice day,” Nilesy said as the door slammed behind Smiffy.

They watched him walk past their windows and out of sight. Then, Lomadia turned back to face Nilesy.

“I think that went better than I could have wished for,” she said.

“We ought to still visit them every month or so,” Nilesy said. “Otherwise they might forget to be afraid of you.”

“I doubt they’ll ever forget that,” Lomadia said. “Although I have a feeling that Alsmiffy will be checking with us often until Nano’s cured.”

“So I was right about them?”

“Yes. He cares a lot more than he’s willing to admit, especially to himself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lomadia is love, Lomadia is life.


	59. Sips, sixth day, sixth hour

“Last night, the production workers for the new organic blend for the current fertilizer product sent you an urgent meeting request,” Silvia said, reading off a clipboard like any decent secretary should be doing. Well, secretaries to whom Sips felt no sexual attraction. Silvia was a pretty girl, but she was young and small. Having her around was simply to serve a purpose, like the clipboard she was holding.

He could replace her whenever he felt she wasn’t doing her job. 

“What the hell could be so urgent that they need to mess up my entire schedule for the day?” Sips grumbled. He really didn’t want to have to leave the headquarters office today. He had things to plan, and he already planned on leaving early so he could get ready for that dumb ball thing tonight. He hadn’t even wanted to go, but Silvia hadn’t realized he was being sarcastic when he agreed and had accepted the invitation on his behalf anyway. He resigned himself to go, although he planned to leave after an appropriate amount of time passed if he didn’t find anybody interesting.

“They didn’t mention many details,” Silvia said timidly, bringing Sips’ thoughts back to the fertilizer and the development team. “They just say it’s a concern with the outsourced resources.”

Outsourced resources meant the bodies he was getting from the Rail and Brothers company’s underground shipping and smuggling. Something was wrong with the bodies? Sips sighed and groaned and stormed out of the office. He could hear Silvia hurrying after him, and no doubt a bodyguard would follow soon after her.

“I guess I’m going to have to babysit them,” Sips said tiredly. “Damn it, I have to do everything around here, don’t I?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Silvia said. “If you’d like, I could go in your place and find out what exactly--”

“No, Silvia. You’re staying here in case something else goes wrong.” Sips interjected. “I don’t need you and them playing games and wasting time by shoving your faces in the dirt when you can’t figure out what’s going on. The fertilizer and the dirt we make isn’t just dirt, you know.”

“Yes sir! It’s the life and the body of Craftia!” Silvia excitedly said as if she were reciting something. Sips briefly wondered if he had written a company policy with that wording, and Silvia had been waiting for the perfect time to prove how invested she was in the company mission. Maybe he should keep her with the company even when he was done having her as a secretary. “Nothing here would exist without Sips Co. dirt! If it’s not perfect, then everyone from the poor to the nobility would be in serious trouble.”

Silvia would never know how accurate it was to say that the dirt--or at least the fertilizer--really was the body of Craftia. Made with a tiny fraction of its harvest of formerly-alive flesh.

But apparently something was wrong with that ingredient, and it was making Sips rather angry that he had to personally step in and fix it. He trusted that the development team and the manufacturing team in charge of the blended bodies could take care of any problems they encountered.

Silvia hovered behind Sips until he was outside. He stopped and looked around for the car that was always supposed to be waiting for him. She said, “Ah, Mister Sips, sir…”

“What is it?” Where was that car? He should get a different chauffeur. 

“Garrett should be refueling just inside, at that fueling station we installed for the mechanical delivery carts. Sorry, I forgot to mention it until--”

Sips was already leaving her behind. He really didn’t want to have to talk to anyone until he got to the research and development lab. Hearing people talk unnecessarily while he wasn’t in the best of moods was just ruining things further. At least Silvia had picked up on that since she started working for him, and she didn’t say anything else as she followed him to the place Sips was sure the refueling station had been built.

He may have had to make a few adjustments to his course, but neither she nor the bodyguard said anything about it.

Garrett’s back was turned as Sips approached the driver and the car and he briefly entertained the idea of throwing him in the trunk, driving to the team himself, and handing Garret over to the human remains compost manufacturing team. 

Silvia called out to Garrett before Sips reached him to knock him over. “Garrett! Mister Sips wants you to take him to the research labs at once!”

Garrett instantly spun around to see Sips marching towards him, tall and commanding and pissed off and incredibly handsome. Garrett twitched, apparently split between stopping the refueling and opening the door for Sips. His common sense won out, and he elected for the second option, letting Sips climb into his car without pausing too long in his stride.

“Hurry up,” Sips said before Garrett closed the door.

“Yessir, Mister Sips,” Garrett said quickly. He practically ran around the car, removing the fueling hoses and shooing away the employee who had been cleaning the windows. In no time, he had hopped into the driver’s seat up front.

“I don’t care if you have to run over pedestrians, Garrett,” Sips informed his driver. “Don’t fucking waste my time.”

“I know sir. Don’t worry sir.”

“Why didn’t you refuel earlier, Garrett?” Sips demanded. “You know I might have to leave for important business at any time.”

“Yes sir. Sorry sir. There were other vehicles being refueled and repaired and I thought that the smooth deliveries and operations of Sips Co. was more important at the time. It won’t happen again, sir.”

Sips smiled and relaxed in his seat. He didn’t know why he ever thought he should fire Garrett. He knew how to work under pressure with a sense of urgency. And yet, as always, his driving was smooth and fast and flawless. The car came close to hitting several people on the road, as well as one or two other carts and vehicles, but Garrett eased just out of the way each time.

~~~~~~

Sips stared distastefully at the naked and bloodied female body lying partially under a black sheet in the center of the magical triangle.

“When we brought this one in, we could tell she was a mage when she had been alive, so we started on the process to remove the traces, but we ran into something weird,” the woman in charge of this team was saying. 

“And what’s that?”

The woman, Aquilla, sighed uncomfortably. “The mage part isn’t hard to remove. She clearly hadn’t been using magic recently, although there were a lot of old residues that suggested near-constant use for several years. Not sure what would do that, but again, not a problem for us. The thing that’s weird is the stain that’s been left behind by a dark witch ritual.” Aquilla walked forwards and crouched down to look at the bruised and bloody face of the body. 

“The stain left behind in her body suggests that it’s one of the magical techniques that were outlawed even before the Magic Police. Like a demonic summoning or gaining immortality or something.”

Sips crossed his arms and examined the magical triangle under the body. “You’ve gotten rid of other bodies that have been used in witch rituals that end in death, haven’t you?”

Aquilla looked back with an apologetic face. “We have, but this one just won’t work. It’s like the witches who killed this woman _wanted_ the stain to be permanent on her body. I don’t think we can use this for the normal stock.”

Sips groaned and clapped a hand over his eyes. “Fine. But we still have to blend it up and use it for something. Set up a time to work with Hardley and see if you can mask the magical signature. Don’t bother worrying about the price. We’ll use this for a company garden or some shit.”

Aquilla stood up and nodded. “Yes, sir!”


	60. Bebopvox, sixth day, ninth hour

Bebop rolled his right arm around in its metal socket to test it for any hitches. It moved smoothly, just like the rest of his artificial limbs. The months of learning how his new body worked and how to maintain it seemed to have finally sunk in as second nature. It wasn’t the same as the physical training and stretching he did one and a half years ago. Before the zeppelin…

Bebop caught his reflection in a rare reflective surface in the bathroom. While he was recovering, he had asked Ridge to remove all of the mirrors and reflective surfaces from the house. He couldn’t stand seeing how damaged he was. Despite being the biggest narcissist in existence, Ridge somehow understood what he meant and got rid of them. He had still kept some, however, and was starting to bring them back into the rooms.

Now, Bebop didn’t mind seeing his face, split between faintly scarred flesh and sculpted metal plates. The accident had not only taken limbs and organs, but it had burnt his forehead, his left eye, most of the left side of his face, and all of his hair. He had lost both of his arms to the incident, much of his lower abdomen, his left leg, and half of his right leg. Even the parts that didn’t have to be removed and replaced with mechanics and metal were protected by the same rust-resistant alloy. Bones and damaged flesh had to be cleared away to prevent against infection, and now Bebop’s movements and actions were made possible by the metal frame and mechanics hidden under the plates shaped to imitate his former appearance.

It made Bebop feel like he was wearing armor all the time. Albeit, it was armor that required constant cleaning, plus maintenance from Ridge. Fixing the joint connections, fine-tuning the artificial nerves, checking on the status of his remaining living organs, and so on and so forth.

Watching his reflection, Bebop smiled. The skin pulled slightly at the places where it connected to the carefully sculpted metal plates. It didn’t look normal, but it wasn’t terrible. At least he still had a face. He might consider getting the flesh half covered up with some kind of mask when he was out in public. It wouldn’t cut down on the stares but it would at least eliminate some of the stupidly pitying looks. 

He didn’t need pity. He was just as strong as he was two years ago. He had spent months training his new body to respond as he needed. 

He wasn’t normal, but he was definitely not inferior for the damage done to his body.

Bebop was suddenly aware of his body telling him that something small was approaching, and would soon be outside the door to the room he was in. Bebop drew back from his reflection and opened the door.

As he stepped out of the room, one of Ridge’s golems ran into his foot with a small clang. It stared up at Bebop and handed him a crumpled piece of paper.

_what if we didn’t go to the thing tonight_

Bebop’s eye narrowed. He brushed past the golem and stormed off to find Ridge. 

There weren’t too many places he would be, and Bebop managed to get the right location on the first try. Ridge was sitting at a workbench screwing small armor plates into a red clay golem. 

“Did you get my note?” Ridge asked. He put the golem down and it stood up to move into the corner of the workbench.

“What the hell, man?” Bebop said. He hoped the small red light in place of his ruined eye was going a good job of portraying his irritation. “I told you I wanted to go to this.”

Ridge shrugged and held his hands out innocently. “Alright, alright. If you really want to go that much, then I’ll get dressed soon.” He stood up. “Was there anything else you wanted for your body?”

Bebop made sure he was blocking the door. He intensified his glare, or at least as much of it that he could control. “Oh, I don’t know. A way to vaporize people that I hate whenever I touch them? Something to make my fake eye actually see? Skin that don’t rust or need maintenance every damn day?”

Ridge’s expression was serious now. It was too much like the one he used when he thought Bebop was feeling effects of the trauma. Bebop clenched his metal fists and wished it actually hurt when he dug the metal tips into his metal palm. Doing this just wasn’t a good tactic for distracting with pain. He relaxed his hands and calmed down his own posture and face. 

Bebop laughed, and it was the same metallic laugh he’d had to get used to for months now. The same partly artificial laugh, and the same partly artificial voice. “Chill, man. I’m just looking forward to ripping people to shreds tonight. They’re all going to be talking about the fucking zeppelin and how it’s such a shame that this happened to me.” He giggled again. “They don’t know how awesome it is to have a laser that can come out of my hand.”

Ridge finally smiled. What a relief. Both of them hated tension. Bebop moved to let him out of the room, and they returned to the master bedroom suite together. 

“You’re going to overdress for this shit ball aren’t you?” Bebop said, pushing Ridge a little too forcefully into the door of the dressing room. He examined the rows of clothes that belonged to him.

“Hey, you’re the one who really wants to be there!” Ridge protested. He rubbed at his side, but didn’t wince. “And if I’m going to one of those, I’m going to be the best dressed guy there.”

“Did you have the tailor fix the fancy stuff too?” Bebop asked. He was eyeing a couple of suits, but he didn’t want to make any decisions until he knew they would fit his altered body. In the meantime, he took off his shirt. 

Ridge sighed. “Bebop, your body is almost the same size and shape as it was before. The alterations that were made were very minor.” After a pause, he added, “Yes, I made sure he fixed _everything_. Now pick something out so I can match you, but prettier.”

Bebop chuckled. “Just have to be the prettiest person there, don’t you?”

His body informed him that Ridge was reaching out towards him before Bebop felt the hand on his shoulder. His human nerves still worked under the skin there and Bebop could feel the sweet sensation of body contact. He could feel the traces of clay dust and light oily remains from working on the golems on Ridge’s hand. He could feel the temperature and weight of Ridge’s hand, but it didn’t register in his mind as a specific degree, or a degree of downwards force. It was just a familiar hand that was warm and lightweight on his body. 

Bebop twisted his body around partway to see Ridge. 

And Ridge was making the stupidest face. He had his other hand tucked under his chin and he was making a dorky smile like a young child. He was shirtless like Bebop, but he had thrown on one of his unnecessary long jackets.

Bebop snorted at the absurdity.

“Oh, don’t laugh,” Ridge said in an exaggerated dainty tone. “I’m always the prettiest. I won a pretty contest when I was a little baby. People can’t get enough of how pretty I am.”

Bebop looked at Ridge’s muscular chest and unwittingly compared it to his own. Both the chest he had now and the one he had before. 

Ridge’s hand on Bebop’s shoulder tightened. Bebop found himself being pulled close to Ridge. The messages from his artificial nerves were bouncing around in his head. Weight, pressure, temperature, friction, Ridgedog.

Ridge was kissing Bebop. He was hugging Bebop close against his body. Instinctively, Bebop hugged back, then kissed back. He kissed as long as he could, enjoying the sensation of human lips against human lips. He could block out the scientific observations that his artificial nerves were reporting to his mind, just as long as he focused on the rush of happy feelings he was getting now. As he kissed Ridge and wordlessly communicated his love through his mouth. His metal fingers locked into a firm hold on Ridge’s stupid coat and he didn’t want to let go anytime soon. 

Regrettably, Ridge had to break the kiss, but he followed it with a dozen more soft kisses across Bebop’s face, both on the flesh portion and the metal portion. Bebop tried to chase after Ridge’s mouth again, but it started moving.

“You’re beautiful, Bebop. Both your old parts and your new parts. You’re gorgeous,” Ridge said. He kissed Bebop again; however, Bebop was the one to pull away first this time.

“Fucking... narcissist,” Bebop accused in between short kisses of his own. “You designed the new parts.”

“I designed those, but I based them off someone who has always been perfect,” Ridgedog said. He started pushing and pulling gently at Bebop to move them towards the cushioned bench at one end of the dressing room.

Bebop stood his ground and leaned back to let Ridge know to slow down the kissing. “Slow down,” he said. “We’re not fucking before the Notch-damned ball.”

“Please?” Ridge whined. He kissed Bebop on the metal forehead plate. “It’ll just be an hour, maybe. We can spare that much. We don’t have to be there on time, anyway.” He pulled lightly again, but Bebop shook his head and let go of Ridge’s coat. He kissed Ridge’s chin, then he moved away as Ridge allowed him to step out of his grasp.

“No.”

“Aww,” Ridge complained. He pouted at Bebop. 

Bebop rolled his eye and turned back to look at the clothes again. He took a gray jacket that was several shades darker than the metal covering his body. “I’m starting with this.”

There would be no way to stop people from staring, so he was going to highlight all of the colors of his new look and he would relish the attention. Make them scared of his useless glowing red eye and the metal armor protecting his perfected body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Ridgevox.  
> >: ]


	61. Sjin, sixth day, tenth hour

When Lalna finally decided to show up at the Honey Crescent Moonrise Ball, Sjin was strongly tempted to tell him to get lost. Sure, he was dressed nicely enough in a dark blue suit, and a Magic Police pin was fixed in a plain location just as it was required while they were technically still on duty. 

But Sjin could tell he wasn’t focused. Lalna had shown up well after the last minute that Sjin had been willing to wait for him. He waved at Sjin when he came close, but almost immediately began staring off into nothing with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He wasn’t even trying to pretend to be serious about this case. His pin was crooked. He was so distracted that Sjin knew he would be no help at all, just like he had been all day.

“If you’re still hung up over the prison escape, you might as well go home,” Sjin hissed once Lalna came closer. He crossed his arms and blocked the way for Lalna to advance further.

“No, I’m here to work.” Lalna protested, looking Sjin in the face again. “I’m still on this case. I just needed to spend some time on a lead for the escape case.”

“You’ve already got leads?” Sjin said incredulously. Moreover, Lalna had actually been working and not just screwing around and avoiding his responsibilities? How unusual.

Lalna shrugged. “It was just some leftover information from a year ago. I thought it would still be relevant.”

“What information?” Sjin asked, small alarm bells ringing in his mind. Although joining the Magic Police much later than the other members, he still vividly remembered Cadwell spending hours and even days explaining the Undesirables’ crimes in detail, how he or the other members of the Magic Police had tracked them down, and how much he wanted to see them burning in the center of Craftia, for all the city to watch. Undesirable 31 was never given that treatment, as far as Sjin remembered. “What were you doing?”

Lalna waved his hand dismissively. “Nothing you need to worry about, Sjin. I’ve got it all covered. Besides, we’re here to figure out who might be the vampire. Did you make any progress on comparing the list of attendees with your profile?”

Sjin wasn’t happy about Lalna brushing him off so easily, but Lalna was right. He needed to prioritize things. It was so weird having Lalna tell him this, especially in this context.

“I was going to ask Sheridan if she would come here tonight and help us out on this.” Sjin admitted. The vivid image of Sheridan’s trashed apartment came immediately to mind. He hated leaving something so important alone for the night, but he couldn’t find any clues to her disappearance in the afternoon he spent searching. He would have to wait one night, then look for her with Lalna after the ball. Sjin continued, “There’s a lot of people who fit the profile I wrote up. It’s a good thing you came, so we can finish checking them off faster.”

“Sheridan didn’t want to come?”

Sjin bit his lip. He didn’t know how to say this. “Uh, well… When I went to her place, it was a wreck. It looked like someone had broken in and there was a fight. I couldn’t find her.”

Lalna’s easy smile disappeared. “What?”

“I asked her neighbors and friends, but they didn’t know anything about her getting in trouble with any people who might do this. So, you know, it might be—”

Sjin cut off his sentence when Lalna groaned and began walking towards the well-lit ballroom. Small groups of people dressed extravagantly in gowns and suits mingled at the edges, and several uniformed staff members either scurried around or walked politely up to the guests and offered to take their cloak, their umbrella, their hat. All of these people had ears and tongues that would not hesitate to repeat what the Magic Police said, in a context far different than anything the police would want. Lalna’s voice was hushed when he spoke next. “The same as what happened to Etherton? There’s a good chance. Despite what the neighbors and friends think, she is still hated by the families of the Undesirables.”

It was why Cadwell was always so insistent upon extremity when dealing with the criminals he brought in. He was convinced that the best way to eliminate the threats was to imprison the friends and families instead of the criminals themselves, and to hold public executions for each of the Undesirables.

Still, he was the radical extremist. Execution was deemed unnecessary even by the government at its height of fear concerning Undesirables.

“So, what are we going to do about this?” Sjin asked. “We have to deal with the vampire case, Undesirable 31’s escape, _and_ Sheridan’s murder? I don’t know about you, but I think two people isn’t enough for that!”

They were out in the ballroom now. People of all ages mingled in groups all over. The elderly and the young and those in between with their long hair curled and either pinned or hanging loose across their shoulders and backs. Those with shorter hair wearing or carrying a fashionable hat, wearing ribbons and and cravats and lacy ties around their throats. Dresses with high collars and small trains and low collars and frilly sleeves and ropes of pearls and gemstones sewn into the seams and heavy masses of skirts. Suits and coats and short cloaks and long sweeping tails and ornately embroidered vests and ties and ribbons and even more gems sewn expertly over pockets and as buttons.

While the room was dense with shades of gold and white and black, other colors were present as well, but they existed like ornately colored flowers floating in a sea of monochrome in gold. Spots of deep crimson, slate gray, pale blue, coral pink, dark lime green, and more wove throughout the mass of people, although they weren’t even dancing yet.

A large orchestra was playing softly in the center of the ballroom, dressed in gold and white and arranged in a crescent around the conductor, who was dressed in gold and black. Decorations made of glass and ribbons and flowers and trimmed in gold bordered the orchestra. 

Sjin might have been intimidated by the size and scale of the ball, but he caught himself before he allowed his mind to become overwhelmed. He was here to work. He already had names, and he could find them easily enough with the help of a few aristocrats with whom he and Lalna had worked before. 

“There’s a small chance that Sheridan might still be alive,” Lalna said softly enough that Sjin could hear but no others around them would be able to eavesdrop. A group of three ladies passed them, one of them winking at Sjin from over her fan. “We’ll check her place again first thing tomorrow morning and see if someone’s seen anything. The vampire might even be related to this. Leave Rythian’s case to me. Once we find Sheridan, I’ll have Rythian recovered and wrapped up in no time. Then I’ll pick up on the vampire case.”

Sjin narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “How are you so sure?”

“I caught him once and I’ll catch him again.”

“You caught him with Cadwell,” Sjin pointed out.

“I don’t need Cadwell now,” Lalna shot back. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing. Now, who is the first person we need to observe and interrogate?”

“We’re not interrogating anyone yet!” Sjin said. Lalna was starting to walk off again, so he quickly caught up with him. “I have a plan for this. There are twenty-four guests here who fit the profile I drew up. I need to see which ones are single.”

Lalna shot Sjin a quizzical glance. “Single? Why is that relevant?”

“This… person,” Sjin said, choosing his words carefully as he was still very aware of the people around them. “He needs to do this in secrecy. He can’t be doing what he’s doing and bringing a partner over all the time, or have a partner upstairs while he’s bleeding out victims.”

“What if his partner is in on it?”

Sjin shook his head. “That’s unlikely. All of the victims only saw one person when they tried to recall what happened when they were attacked. Just one person, an altar, and a basement.” Sjin didn’t want to consider that it might be a couple or a family working together. That would bring far too many people into the investigation.

“If nobody on my list turns out to be the--you know,” Sjin said, “Then we’ll consider couples and maybe even families doing this.” A few noble family names came to mind. To his knowledge, every noble family in Craftia except one had been involved in at least one magical or political scandal. Before, the families would be able to get away with the crimes easily. 

The only family that had escaped that was the Eleventh Noble House of Craftia, often just called the Eleven family. There were very few members of that family left, so there was a chance they would never be involved in such an affair.

The orchestra’s music gradually crescendoed until the room was full of a merry song that smoothly transitioned into another, more familiar piece. Some of the guests started moving out of the way of bolder dancing partners eager to share the first dance of the night together.

“Let’s get to work,” Lalna said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few days late because I had too many research papers to write. Also, I don't like writing about people's clothes. The next few chapters will take place during this ball, by the way.


	62. Xephos, sixth day, tenth hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for having so much patience. I am so happy that you are still reading this fic and you're still interested in what happens next. I hate leaving this fic without another chapter for so long, so I'm sorry. I love this story so much and I have so many awesome things planned for it, some of them partially written.

The Crescent Honey Moonrise Ball was one of those events that Xephos absolutely loved attending, simply for the gargantuan amount of notable figures in Craftia that it brought together. He never had the time to talk with everyone he liked, especially when he had to watch that Honeydew’s inevitable playful quarrels didn’t escalate into anything that could damage the Khaz Modan family name. 

Still, Xephos found himself enjoying the night every time. The social atmosphere at a ball of this magnitude was unlike anything he could find elsewhere. It was almost suffocating, but every once in a while, it was fun to drown in the connections. The friends catching up with each other after weeks of endless work, the people who saw each other on a daily basis but enjoyed seeing each other in a setting other than business, the young and old forming new relations with each other, and the parents trying to arrange marriages for children.

That last type of person in particular… Xephos once had quite an interesting experience with a form of that type of person. 

And now, as Xephos left Honeydew with a throng of lovely ladies and gentlemen, he saw a very dear friend approaching him. He moved to a more private location, although there were already far less people mingling on the balcony overlooking the ballroom. Xephos waited for his friend to catch up to him, and he welcomed him with a warm grin and a firm handshake that instantly became a half-hug.

Sparkles always managed to find Xephos at these events. He would wander around the edges of the ballroom and had dozens of excuses in reserve to turn down offers to dance.

As always, Sparkles was just barely underdressed and his fiery orange hair looked like he had been flying across the city just moments ago. Then again, Xephos didn’t blame him for doing his best to avoid the attention of the majority of the partygoers. Besides Sparkles perpetual single status due to his lack of interest in forming romantic relationships, his position as the head of one of the last pure-blooded noble families of Craftia left him one of the most desirable people to catch at a ball like this.

If Xephos were in his position, he would probably do the same to avoid the throngs of people who would throw themselves at the noble as soon as his carriage arrived.

Xephos left go of Sparkles and was pleased to see some energy in his friend. The night had not yet sapped him of his vigor.

“Lord Eleven,” Xephos said in greeting.

Sparkles chuckled as he also let go. “If you’re going to call me that, I should start expecting people to call Parv, Leo, and Kogie ‘Lord Eleven’ too,” he said.

This was a familiar routine, but Xephos knew it was comfortable for Sparkles. Soon, they would bribe a servant to find them a more private place where the two could get mildly drunk. It didn’t always end in Honeydew or another of Xephos’ friends having to drag them away, but the nights that did end thusly were some of the most enjoyable experiences Xephos liked to pretend he could remember. 

“Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to get them to think of themselves as for years?” Xephos asked.

Sparkles shrugged. “Well, only Parv has taken to it, and that’s mostly thanks to your brilliant plan.” They shared a smug smile with each other, remembering the beautiful moment that their respective relatives realized what type of situation Xephos and Sparkles had put them into.

“We both set them up with each other,” Xephos reminded him. “It’s been good for Will. I don’t see him much anymore, but when I do, he actually looks well rested and happy. Clearly it’s been good for Parv too.”

Sparkles sighed in relief and leaned against a massive marble column. “It keeps him out of trouble. I worried about it a lot before. If anyone was going to ruin the reputation we’ve kept for centuries, it would have been Parv and his mad schemes. I’ll tell you again, if it hadn’t been for you and Will, I’m sure he would be the creepy smiling face of a nasty scandal.”

“So what have you been up to lately?” Xephos asked, changing the topic from a conversation they had discussed many times before. “I saw your play, although I’ll admit that I missed the opening night, so I didn’t see you.”

Sparkles began walking away from the edge of the balcony, towards the place where Honeydew had been moments before. Xephos scanned what he could see of the guests, but he couldn’t see his best friend and employer.

“Since the work for that is over, I’ve been taking it easy,” Sparkles said. He was making his way towards a hallway leading to a secluded room that Xephos vaguely remembered being full of old paintings the last time he was here. “I think most of the critics have finally accepted that I’m taking up playwriting for my own interest. It’s not just some attempt to restore honor to the Eleven family name.”

They entered the hallway lit by dimmed electric chandeliers hanging from concave domes in the ceiling. 

“But you had some fun with it.” Xephos offered.

“Yes. I even brought in the others to try to help out with some parts of it, but they’ve all mostly got their own things going on. Leo’s been the biggest help, but the other two--” Sparkles stopped and shook his head. His hair flopped around before settling in his eyes, and he flipped it out of the way absentmindedly.

“What about you?” Sparkles asked. He looked back at Xephos with only a small portion of hair hanging over his eyes. “Honeydew keeping you busy?”

Xephos thought fondly about the last dozen projects Honeydew wanted to start over the past week. “Just reminding him what is actually possible with the amount of scientific and industrial knowledge we have at our disposal at this point in history.”

Sparkles laughed merrily. “I see. What was his latest idea?”

“A better jetpack, interestingly enough. Now that one, we might get to it in a couple years. Will is sometimes willing to lend some of his researchers to me so that his company actually has legitimate competition.”

“Competition with a person that spends half of his company’s energy and resources on making food,” Sparkles pointed out.

“I’m not going to complain about it,” Xephos said. “Besides, we only overlap on some of Honeydew’s more obscure ideas. Most of the time, he does his thing and Honeydew Inc. improves baking ingredients, procedures, equipment, and machinery.”

Sparkles nodded. From down the hall, they could hear the music changing to a livelier piece. Sparkles’ expression grew pained. Reluctantly, he began leading Xephos out of the hallway.

“Parv said he would be here tonight,” Sparkles said absentmindedly. “I’m not sure if he told me that because he wanted to see me or not.”

“If he wants to do that, he can come up here,” Xephos told Sparkles firmly. 

Sparkles scoffed. “He’s going to be down on the ballroom dancefloor, either dragging Will around or flirting with every pretty person he sees. Or both. He claims to be serious about Will, but he could never resist making people ‘almost as pretty as he is’ fall for him.” He exaggerated the last part in a bad imitation of Parv’s voice.

They stopped when they left the security of the dark hallway. Once again, the atmosphere was musical, noisy, and slowly becoming hotter with the movement and constant talk. The windows open to let in cool night breezes were doing little to aid the situation.

Xephos slapped Sparkles on the back. “I’m going to get us something to drink. Then we can sit up here and find that cousin of yours and count how many people he hits on until Will tries to leave and Parv chases after him.”


	63. Alsmiffy, sixth day, eleventh hour

Ross was down in Nano’s lab, examining the purple substance in the tank.

Alsmiffy had remained silent long enough to arrive at the highest floor, where Nano slept. Keeping his distance in case the young woman awoke and tried to murder him, he fixed his thaumic goggles over his eyes and observed her.

Her body rose and fell gently with each exhale. Her face was partially turned in Smiffy’s direction.

The handful of candles sealed by the dripping wax to a wide dish shed enough light to fill the room with more shadows than Smiffy would have dealt with if it were in complete darkness. But the magical goggles allowed him to see the textures beyond the allowance of the light.

As Smiffy hesitantly drew nearer, he saw faint purple sparks drifting around the side of Nano’s face. He froze, instantly on guard, but convinced himself to move closer. There had to be some kind of source.

The purple sparks flared up and Smiffy watched in surprise as they brightened, grew, and formed a shape. It was something like a skeletal hand clutching the side of Nano’s face. The bony wisps of the purple magical infection raked tenderly across Nano’s skin and left faint purple lines in its wake that spiraled and twisted into something like a ragged net over her features.

Alsmiffy drew a wand out of his coat and pointed it at the bony hand. 

“Get wrecked,” he said, quietly but with passion. A sharp green bolt of light shot from the wand and struck the purple hand directly. The hand recoiled and moved away from Nano.

Smiffy shot a stronger bolt of the green light and set the purple skeletal hand on fire. It thrashed about, trying to fight the flames, and launched itself straight at Smiffy. He stepped back and made a sharp slashing motion with the wand. As he swung it, the wand cleaved the embodiment of the infection in two.

The hand dissolved into a mass of purple particles, but they shot after Alsmiffy again, targeting his face.

“Fucking magic,” he hissed. He clamped a hand against a gold and emerald pin on his suit and a flaming green aura engulfed his body, protecting it against the purple sparks. They sizzled and died against the aura. 

Hesitantly, Smiffy let the aura fade away.

“That… worked.” He looked back at Nano, focusing on her with the specialized vision the goggles offered him. The purple veinlike threads remained coiling just under her skin. They released a constant thin vapor of purple smoke. 

Smiffy returned to Nano’s side and knelt down. He took the pin off his suit and held it firmly in one hand. The green flames coated the skin of his hand. He carefully brought the fistful of magic close to Nano’s purple-stained face.

Nano’s eyes blinked open. She gasped in surprise upon seeing Smiffy so close to her and shoved him roughly away. Smiffy was only moved a small amount by the push, but he drew back.

“Smiffy! What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

Alsmiffy let the green flames dissipate and he returned the pin to his suit. He stood up and stared evenly at her. Nano got out of her bed and put her hands on her hips, glaring.

“You’ve got some purple stuff on your face, Nano,” Smiffy said in a teasing tone. “Since you’re obviously so dirty that you can’t wash yourself, I thought I might do you a favor.”

Nano looked disgusted. “You creep! I wash myself just fine, not that it’s any of your business! What are you doing in my room at this time of night? Do you sneak in here often?”

Smiffy scoffed and shook his head. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you randy--”

“Shut it, Smiffy,” Nano interjected. “I’m not Trottimus or Ross. What are you doing here?”

He wondered if Ross was making any progress. He wondered if he should have asked Lomadia to do this instead of trying things out on his own. He was just going to have to bluff his way out of this. Smiffy put his hands in his pockets and settled into a more comfortable stance.

“I’m just here to wake you up. I’ve got something I want to show you. Do you have anything that can make you fly?” 

Nano studied him curiously. “Couldn’t you have waited for me then? As in, wait for me somewhere that _isn’t_ right next to my face as I’m sleeping?”

“No, mate, this is important.” Smiffy protested. “I’m going to show you which buildings we’re going to destroy in Craftia. By ‘we’ I mean you, of course.”

Nano’s eyes brightened and the veins on the side of her face emitted a stronger puff of purple magic. Smiffy conscientiously controlled himself so that his expression wouldn’t betray his concern. 

“I don’t have any explosives right now,” she admitted. Smith breathed an inward sigh of relief. 

“Don’t worry about that. We swiped some of your designs last time we properly visited your house, and Trott’s been mass producing them back at H.A.T. Corp.”

“You stole--”

“But we’ve got an arsenal of bombs for you,” Alsmiffy continued. “I’ve even been making some magical ones. Plenty of things that go boom that you can throw at the fucking city.” He grinned maniacally and Nano mirrored it with a sly smile. 

“That’s nice of you,” she said. “Can I get my designs back anytime soon?”

“Unfortunately, that’s a request I can’t help you with at the moment,” Smiffy said. “But back to why I’m here. You’ve got something that can help you fly?”

“Yes, but…” 

“We’re going to do a flyby tonight.” 

“I--” Nano scowled and marched towards Smiffy again. She pushed him in the direction of the door. “Can you at least wait until I’m dressed?”

“I’m coming back up in two minutes,” Smiffy shouted as Nano slammed the door after him.

“I’ll punch your dumb face in if you do!”

Alsmiffy quickly and silently ran down to the room where he left Ross. The other man was examining a large tank full of disgusting purple sludge that had the same magical signature as the infection on Nano’s face earlier. 

“I think we can burn it,” Ross said when Smiffy entered the room. 

“That’s great, mate,” he answered, distracted. “Listen, Nano’s awake.”

“What?”

“But I’ve got it covered. Just keep quiet and I’ll get her out of the tower. If you think you can destroy this tonight, do it. If not, we’ll come back with the witches tomorrow.”

Ross nodded slowly. Smiffy took his first good look at the source of the thing that was probably infecting Nano. To Ross, it must look unnatural, but with the thaumic goggles, it was nightmarish. The skeletal hand was bad enough, but this was like a festering cesspool of wispy eldritch creatures. They swam around in the purple liquid, constantly changing shape and size. They fused with other magically-born creatures in the liquid and split into dozens of smaller insect monsters with too many eyes that stained the magic in the fluid with trails of infectious magic.

“Don’t touch that,” Smiffy said. He scanned Ross’ body and found no trace of the purple infection on him. That was good. They should keep it that way.

“Should we burn it?”

“Yeah…” Smiffy murmured.

There was a loud shout from upstairs. “Smiffy! Where are you? Are you messing with my things again?”

“Gotta go, Ross,” Alsmiffy said, already on his way out of the room. He dashed up the steps and almost ran into Nano, who was about to come down the stairs. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him.

“What were you doing down there?”

“Looking for more weapons designs,” Smiffy said quickly. Evasively, he danced around her and strode up to one of the large windows. “You’re slacking on coming up with new ones that work, Nano. H.A.T. Corp won’t be pleased with that. Do you have a timetable written up on how you’re going to improve this month?”

“I’m not making them for you!” Nano snapped. “I want those back soon! Are you listening to me?”

Smiffy faced her and crouched down to look her in the face. “Yes. We can pick them up on the way back. Promise.”

Nano was still frowning. “Fine.” She picked up a very unstable-looking jetpack from the ground and plucked a hang-glider made of mob skins off the wall. She pushed past Smiffy and unlatched the window. The cold night air hit them both like a slap.

“Are you going to show me the way?” Nano asked. 

Smiffy pushed past her and activated his thaumic harness. Tiny bolts of lightning blossomed from the back of the harness and Nano jumped back, yelping. He leapt out of the tower into the open air. The bolts stretched in front of him and made a loose web in the air around him. They tugged gently on the air currents and directed Smiffy in the way he wanted to go.

He looked over his shoulder and saw Nano following.

“Keep up,” he shouted.

“I’m fine, you bastard,” she shouted back. “Don’t fall out of the sky!”

Smiffy chucked and flew higher into the sky so they could pass undetected over the wall and into the air above the glittering expanse that was the city of Craftia in the night.


	64. Kirindave, sixth day, eleventh hour

People-watching was an interesting sport. Watching other people observing people was even more entertaining. 

Sjin was so blatantly suspicious of everyone that it was a constant struggle not to laugh when he passed by where Kirindave stood or sat as he chatted with friends and acquaintances: heirs and CEOs and nobles and aristocrats. The Magic Detective even had a small notebook in hand, although he did his best to keep it out of sight. He was approaching several guests and hovering around them or near them for short periods of time. After that, he would sulk away, make little notes in his book, and move on to some new target.

He had absolutely no interest in the social and cultural elements of the ball and it was so painfully obvious.

After a while, Kirindave was finished with laughing to himself over Sjin’s apparent troubles with locating people--suspects. He hadn’t heard any news about the Magic Police taking on the case yet, so they were clearly still trying to keep it quiet until they found some damning evidence that could be used to publicly trap the culprit. It was all for the sake of generating political propaganda. It was why the Magic Police were given so much freedom with taking down the Magical Undesirables. It was also why they were led by a political extremist for years.

Kirindave wondered if they had made any progress at all in the case since he last ‘heard’ from them. He was equally curious as to the identity of the blood mage.

Lalna suddenly walked into view. He seemed more at ease in the crowds and he stopped when someone in a suit pulled him aside.

Kirindave stood up from the table and smiled politely to his friends. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said. “There’s someone I want to find, before he gets away.”

“Oh, who?”

He pursed his lips for a moment, then answered, “Lord Ridgedog.”

“He actually came? I haven’t seen him.”

“I thought he was still living reclusively with that zeppelin commander,” one of the ladies sitting at the table said under her breath.

“No, I saw him come in a short while ago with someone who rather looked like Bebopvox,” Kirindave said. His friends looked at each other with mixed reactions. “I want to go see how they’re doing. It’s been so long since I’ve had the chance to talk with him properly.”

With that, he excused himself once more and stepped away from the table. He examined the vast spread of people around him. 

He had seen Ridge wearing one of his typical ostentatious outfits, which would be hard to miss, but Bebop would also stick out in the crowd. From what Kirindave had caught in the brief glimpse of them earlier in the evening, a part of Bebop’s face looked like it was covered by a shiny mask. It was an unusual stylistic choice, but considering the reports of the severity of the zeppelin fire, Kirindave realized there must be some scarring and damage.

Wasn’t that why the two of them had hidden away from public eyes for so long? Certainly, it wasn’t because Ridge was working on another illegal magical experiment, right?

Kirindave chuckled. 

Lord Ridgedog and Kirindave were two of the only four Undesirables--or people who would have been Undesirables--who had decided that it would be better to work with the police and government. They accepted the laws, destroyed or handed over their dangerous resources, and offered to help wherever they could. That was the price for their freedom.

But Kirindave couldn’t keep from exploring magic. He just got a lot better at hiding the illicit things from the eyes of others. 

He knew that Ridge was doing the same thing, although Ridge had clearly been busy for a while helping his friend Bebop deal with the aftermath of the zeppelin accident. 

Finally, he saw Ridge. He was just across the ballroom floor, talking with a sizable crowd. He handed these types of people who admired him for his noble lineage with ease, towering over them and talking down to them without making it seem like he was being condescending. Truly an art, although Kirindave was glad he would never have to experience either end of it.

Ridge saw him approaching and halted momentarily in his speech to his fans. 

“Hello, Ridge,” Kirindave said, now drawing the attention of the crowd of vultures. They reluctantly moved to let him face Ridge properly. “It’s been a while since you’ve shown your face in public.”

Ridge’s smile was tight. “Did you miss me? I’ve been hearing about how much my presence was missed at every event I neglected to attend.”

“Actually, I _did_ miss you,” Kirindave said. There was no reason for him to keep up that air of hostility anymore, if Ridge was willing to give him a chance. Ridge seemed to have quietly and anonymously sided with the resistance forces several years ago and he never had forgiven Kirindave for siding publicly with the government.

Kirindave continued, in the hopes that relative isolation with the commander had tempered Ridge since their last encounter. “It’s hard to find someone who is as good at debating opposing viewpoints on current events as you are.”

Ridge eyed him cautiously. “I’ve been keeping up. Although I’ve spent most of my time working on some technological advances. I borrowed Strife Industries idea for mechanical prosthetics and tinkered with it a bit. The end result is great. Even you would be impressed.”

“Prosthetics?” Did that mean...

Ridgedog nodded off to his left side. Kirindave immediately sought out Bebop, recalling what he looked like when he walked in with Ridge. It wasn’t hard to find him.

Bebop was locked in a cheerful conversation with another friend of theirs, Verbal. He didn’t seem to be aware of the attention now focused on him, but he was still turned in their direction. A few people gasped softly behind Ridge and Kirindave, and the two walked away from the unwanted crowd.

Kirindave examined Bebop’s face as best as he could from his distance. The metal covering his face and head wasn’t just a mask. It was actually his face, meticulously crafted to be symmetrical to the half that remained. The “eye” set within the metal side of his face was a softly glowing light, although Kirindave suspected it somehow functioned perfectly as an eye. As near to perfection as Ridge’s near godlike advanced technology could create.

Kirindave wondered just how much of Bebop’s body was mechanical. What supplied those parts with power? His eyes raked over the rest of Bebop’s body, but it was all covered. Even his hands were covered with gloves. Were they metal too? How did Ridge construct something so lifelike in that time he was hidden away from the eyes of the public?

“Strife!” Ridge suddenly called out, looking at a place over Kirindave’s shoulder. He twisted his head around, then adjusted his position to allow room for William Strife, the founder and corporate head of Strife Industries, which Ridge had just mentioned.

Strife half-smiled and joined the pair.

“Where’s Parv?” Ridge asked. Kirindave watched the two interact in silence.

Strife’s smile fell away. “He’s busy.”

“Left you to hit on other guys?” Ridge joked. Strife rolled his eyes.

“He promised he he would stick to girls for tonight. He also said something about ‘not taking anyone home’ this time,” Strife muttered, a tad bitterly. 

Ridge laughed and Strife sighed in resignation.

“So who is this?” Strife asked, looking at Kirindave finally. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask earlier.”

“Oh, you’re just trying to avoid that topic, aren’t you?” Ridge snickered. “This is Kirindave. He’s a mage who sides with the Magic Police and the government.”

Kirindave smiled stiffly and held out his hand to shake Will Strife’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, although now I feel obligated to explain Lord Ridgedog’s introduction of me.”

Strife shook his head. “No, that’s quite alright. I know who Kirindave is. You’re not exactly what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

Strife shrugged. “Sorry, but I’ve met many political employees in my lifetime, and I’ve compiled a mental image of what they look and act like. You seem more like a mage--a mage out of time, that is.”

Kirindave raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”

“You still gossip like a government worker,” Ridge pointed out. “What new political campaign are you going to try to sell to me tonight? I didn’t feel like dancing anyway.”

“I’m not sympathetic to all of their actions,” Kirindave protested. “I just prefer to see both sides and try to understand the intentions of them.”

“So what are the sneaky intentions you’ve been hearing about that normal people haven’t?” Ridge pressed. “There must be something worthwhile.”

“I’ve heard that the Magic Police are finally investigating the vampire that’s been running around,” Kirindave said.

Ridgedog laughed. “That’s no vampire and you know it, Kirindave.”

“Oh, I know it’s not a vampire. I told them as much when they came to me to ask for advice. They think it’s a blood mage, and so do I, to be honest.”

Will twitched, just the smallest amount, but it was enough to set alarm bells off in Kirindave’s mind. Ridge started comparing historical accounts of vampire activity with what little was known about blood magic, but Kirindave only partially paid attention. He watched Strife discreetly and waited for another reaction, but the other man had steeled himself with a very professional training. 

Kirindave thought about everything he knew about Strife. Businessman, hugely successful, supportive of innovative scientific methods and research, charitable. And he was one of the faces of the technological movement that moved away from reliance on magic and witchery.

This William Strife would never involve himself in something so steeped in pure ancient magic as blood magic.

But Alexander Parvis, a Lord of the Eleventh Noble House of Craftia… he might. And what a scandal it would be if it were found out that the Eleventh Noble family had finally dipped their hands into one of the most forbidden varieties of dark magic.


	65. Strife, sixth day, eleventh hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. This chapter is up. Thank you to all my amazing friends who helped me to get this done. Red, Gwen, Soi... I love you all.
> 
> Also, it's been three months since I've started posting this! :D

“...but I haven’t heard about blood magic since the month before the Undesirables were listed,” Ridgedog explained. Amusement shone in his eyes. “It actually piqued my interest, but I couldn’t exactly start researching what it was with the Magic Police watching everyone’s moves.”

Meanwhile Strife was still in an internal frenzy for Parvis, after being triggered by Kirindave’s casual comments.. He had to calm down. Neither Ridge nor Kirindave knew what Parv was doing. Ridge had met Parv before, and Will had done his best to make sure the encounter was nothing but fun for both parties. Fun that didn’t involve illegal activities, that is. Although, he knew Ridge and Parv would hold no qualms over dipping into more dangerous methods of entertainment. While both nobles had much to lose from the inevitable scandal resulting from such activities, they also reveled in the protection of a centuries-old social status.

Still, there was no reason to suspect a young nobleman who never had any dealings with dark magic before. Moreover, Strife and Parvis had nothing to fear as long as they didn’t run into the Magic Police. They just had to maintain their distance and behave in public.

His internal monologue was starting to work. Will managed to keep his voice even as he spoke. “Weren’t you supposed to be Undesirable Number One, Ridge?”

Ridgedog smirked and placed a finger over his lips. “Shh,” he whispered. “That information was never released to the public, and it never will be.”

“But, for that first month of the Magic Police’s existence, you were the most dangerous magical criminal in all of Craftia,” Kirindave pointed out smugly. 

“I’ve cleaned up my act since then.” Ridgedog said defensively while snatching a glass of champagne from one of the beverage trays of a passing servant. Will considered taking one, but changed his mind when Kirindave reached out to take a glass as well. 

“And I was never a criminal,” Ridgedog added pointedly. “I’m a little hurt that you still assume that of me. Just because I didn’t run over to the Magic Police headquarters and hand over my entire life’s work to a couple of novice--”

“Let’s not start that conversation again,” Kirindave advised, cutting off Ridge. Both looked relieved to have avoided what was doubtlessly going to be another one of their infamous and messy arguments regarding the magical restriction laws and the government’s policies. Strife had heard enough of Ridge’s complaints about Kirindave to guess how well those debates progressed, and he was glad to have evaded one of them. 

“Speaking of the Magic Police, I actually saw one of them a while ago,” Kirindave added.

“Where?” Ridge looked around. 

Strife felt like screaming.

How? How was this happening right now? He already had his hands full, dealing with an Ender mage in his house and a blood altar in his basement!

This couldn’t be happening. _Damn_ Parvis and his stupid recreational blood magic! If he had only stuck with music...

Strife surveyed the room as casually as he could. There had to be something he could do about this. He needed to make certain that the Magic Police stayed as far away from Parvis as possible.

“Right there,” Kirindave informed, pointing. Strife followed the guidance of his gesture and saw a figure advancing upon a cluster of people. He was moving so obviously and suspiciously that Will first doubted it to actually be a member of the Magic Police, but regardless, it was a comforting revelation. Parv wasn’t over there. Strife glanced back at the corner of the ballroom where he had left Parv. The young man was dancing elegantly with a young woman in a brilliant golden dress. He was safe, at least for the moment.

Still… Kirindave suspected a blood mage. The Magic Police consulted with Kirindave often, according to Ridge. So it was safe to assume they knew it was blood magic that they were dealing with--they knew the vampire was a blood mage. And they were _here_ , and Parvis was here and--

“Oh shit,” Ridge muttered. “What are… I need to leave you two. Bebop’s, uh... mechanisms...” his words trailed as he hurried away, back towards Verbal and Bebop. Verbal was largely shielding Bebop from view, but as he turned his head frantically towards Ridge, Strife could see Bebop covering the metal side of his face with a shaking arm. 

Strife raised his eyebrows when he realized Bebop wasn’t wearing a glove on that hand anymore. Instead, he was pressing against the edge of the artificial eye socket with a polished metal prosthetic arm peeking out of the sleeve of his suit. Sleek and small as a normal human hand, yet so alien and nonhuman. He watched the fingers move and slide easily in grooves and joints under an artificial pale-translucent skin. It was beautiful.

As Ridge approached Bebop, the man uncovered his eye and revealed a much duller light than had been shining before.

“I hope he’s going to be alright,” Kirindave said. He sounded distracted, although he too stared in fascination at the human with an impossibly futuristic body.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you as well,” Strife said. This was the best opportunity he had to escape Kirindave. He couldn’t risk staying around the man any longer. 

“I’ll see you around, Will Strife.” Kirindave replied. It sounded dangerously like a promise, and sickeningly friendly. Strife smiled as he left Kirindave, but the expression almost immediately faded to a grimace when he turned his back on him. 

He understood now why Ridge didn’t like that mage. Witch. Whatever he was. Besides his apparent betrayal of the magic users in the city, he was too nosy. He wanted to know too much, and he probably already knew too much.

He was dangerous.

Strife hastily made his way across the dancefloor, carefully avoiding the swaying pairs as they stepped in rhythm with the music. A number of the faces he passed were ones he recognized: from business deals, from events to which he accompanied Parv, from notable faces in the city and government, even from his own personal friendships. He briefly thought there might have been someone especially familiar lingering just in the corner of his eye, but he didn’t care enough about finding people for his own sake. There were more important things to do.

Once he reached him, Parvis winked at Strife over the young lady’s shoulder, with whom he was dancing. After Parv finished his dance with the lady, he gave her a short bow, and left her dazed and beaming. 

“What’s up, Strifey?” Parv welcomed cheerily. He took Strife’s hands in his and guided him further out onto the dancefloor. Strife matched Parv’s pace, though he kept an eye out for anyone coming towards them. 

“I have to tell you something important,” Strife said under his breath. Parvis halted, then turned to face Strife. “Are you listening?”

“Always, Will.” Parv kissed him softly on the cheek as they traversed into dance. Strife’s gaze was drawn to the small stretch of skin that peeked out from Parv’s sleeve. Just a fraction of an inch more and the permanent red stains from the blood magic would be visible.

“The Magic Police are here,” Strife whispered, just loud enough that Parv could hear.

“Alright.” Parvis wasn’t nearly concerned enough. He was humming along with the melody of the music.

“They’re looking into the vampire case,” Will added. “And they know the vampire is a blood mage.”

Parv’s smile dropped. “But they don’t know it’s me.”

“But they’re investigating it,” Will pressed. “And they’re here, and--”

“Shh,” Parv interrupted, effectively silencing Will. “They don’t know. You think they might suspect me? Fine. Then let’s give them something else to think about if they see me. Something other than the reckless noble that the gossip news says I am.” He released of one of Strife’s hands and allowed Will to take the lead in the dance. 

Parv laid his warm palm against Will’s cheek as he leaned closer for their lips to meet. Closing his eyes, he pushed even closer, pressing harder against Will’s mouth. Will relented and relished the familiar taste of Parv’s tongue and soft lips. 

“Just forget they’re looking for us,” Parv whispered, brushing his lips against Will’s with each syllable. 

“Kind of hard to do that,” Will grumbled. He bit Parv’s lower lip gently, before taking it into his mouth as he slowed the pace of their dancing, so he could press Parvis tight against his body. If he could fill his senses with Alex Parvis, maybe he could forget about Kirindave’s easy smile when he discussed the blood mage and the Magic Police roaming around the ballroom. Will jerked his neck to the side so he could kiss at the corner of Parv’s mouth, where he tasted dark red wine. 

Parvis’ eyes flickered past Will and he giggled. “One of them is watching, Will.” He stroked Will’s side soothingly. 

Will’s heart raced. Yet Parv’s presence was rooting him to this small space where they continued to dance to music that was almost drowned out by the noise of the pulse in his ears. He leaned his head on Parv’s shoulder for a moment, and listened to the slight sound of Parv’s heartbeat. It was slower than his, and Will would have tried to match his breathing to it, but he was interrupted when Parvis guided his head back upright. 

“The show’s not over, Will, love,” Parvis said gently. He grasped both of Will’s hands and started leading again. The song was different now, and the lights were gradually dimming to create a softer atmosphere. A mild commotion behind Will made him twist around as best he could to see a glowing yellow crescent moon-shaped structure being lifted into the air above the orchestra and the dancers. Small fireworks and magic sparklers steadily shot out from the edges of the moon shape.

All around them, couples were pausing in the dance to kiss and whisper to one another, as almost all of the light in the room faded. They were sharing their wishes of love and commitment under the last light of the Honey Moon, a silly and superstitious tradition, but an old tradition nonetheless. 

Will ceased their dance as he relinquished Parv in order to suddenly and completely completely to seize his face caressing it as he kissed him passionately, not for the distraction for the eyes of the Magic Police, but to share the promise that he would take care of Alex, no matter what they had to face.


	66. Sjin, sixth day, eleventh hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight gore at the end of this chapter. Be warned. I'm adding some tags to the fic because of it.

“Crossing Lord Eleven, Alexander Parvis off the list,” Sjin murmured to himself, turning away from the couple before they started doing anything more explicitly sexual. They were becoming way too touchy for his tastes. If Alex Parvis didn’t fit into his profile, then Sjin had no reason to be watching the young man sucking at Will Strife’s face for the Honey Crescent Moon’s kiss. 

Sjin stuffed his notebook and pen back into his pocket. All he could see in the dim lights were the slow dancing couples.

Coming to this ball was a waste of time. The social atmosphere made it hard to get the suspects alone. Sjin couldn’t help but think that everyone was acting too innocent. He wasn’t sure whether to conclude that most of them were actually innocent, or that everybody just had something to hide, even from their closest friends. These people were powerful, after all. They didn’t stay that way by being sloppy with retaining their secrets.

He doubted Lalna was having any more luck than he was. 

This case was probably just too notorious and shrouded in enigmatic conjectures to properly investigate. It might be time to let the case go cold and keep watch until something new came up. After all, nobody had died from the attacks yet.

Sjin felt that he was far more likely to find Sheridan’s killer or abductor than this blood mage. Whoever he was, this criminal had enjoyed months of relative freedom from the police in which he was able to learn how to hide his tracks. If Sjin was right about the blood mage being one of these people with so much practice keeping dark secrets hidden, it would be near impossible to find him at this point. They needed to wait for the slippery culprit to slip up.

Maybe it was bad form giving up after only six days, but…

But Sheridan might still be alive. Sheridan had worked so hard to keep the Magic Police on the path of justice, working for the greater good. She joined the force because she was an idealist. Although some of that bright outlook on humanity may have been chipped away by Cadwell’s unpleasant demeanor and determination to use the most excessive force possible as a show of the Magic Police’s strength. Still, she was a good person, and she was brilliant with her magic. She had been one of the first to start teaching Sjin about defensive and offensive magic when he first joined.

Sjin jumped suddenly when he felt a hand on his back. He spun around and came face to face with Kirindave. What was he doing here?

The mage opened his mouth to speak, but then he frowned and closed it. He stared at Sjin as if he was trying to recognize something about him. For a brief moment, Sjin was almost sure that there was a sort of glimmer around Kirindave’s face. 

Sjin blinked. That was definitely magic, but what type of magic was it? It reminded Sjin of the filmy magical residue left after people used charms to speed up their reading pace, or when they were removing red herrings while investigating a crime scene. He had seen it on Lalna’s face quite a few times, although Sjin himself had never learned the skill.

“What do you want, Kirindave?” Sjin asked. He glanced around, but the dancing couples were ignoring them and slowly moving away from them while rocking back and forth to the pace of the music. Sjin looked back at the mage distastefully. Generally, if Kirindave was going to seek him out, he didn’t do it in the middle of a public setting like this. 

Kirindave squinted, still frowning. “You seem off, Sjin.” 

“What?” Sjin said. “How?” He was starting to feel uncomfortable with the attention Kirindave was giving him.

“There’s something magical on you. Or,” Kirindave stopped looking at Sjin’s body. The magical glimmer flared up briefly. “Or in you. I can’t tell. But it doesn’t look good.”

Sjin stared incredulously at Kirindave. “What? Like a magical illness?” He was quite certain that he couldn’t catch those. Before they started hunting after evil witch cults, Etherton had made sure their bodies had been vaccinated against magical diseases and potential infections. And besides, magical infections tended to attack the body aggressively. There was no way anything could have infected him without his knowledge.

“Maybe a curse,” Kirindave said thoughtfully.

Sjin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Great. I’ll look into it. Thanks for the heads up. Now, I have to go find Laln--”

“He’s up on the balcony,” Kirindave said. “He went up there not long after you two arrived here.”

Sjin gaped. “Have you been watching us?”

“Not all evening. But I’m sure a lot of people have noticed you watching them,” Kirindave said with a knowing smile. “You’re investigating the blood mage still?”

“Shh!” Sjin shushed. He glanced around again, but the guests were still unaware of their conversation. He motioned for Kirindave to follow him to a quieter area of the ballroom that was far less populated by potential eavesdroppers. 

“About the blood mage... I can help you out more with that.” Kirindave suggested. Sjin winced inwardly. That was exactly what he didn’t need right now. A busybody mage butting his nose into their business. Probably also spreading rumors to other people about what the Magic Police were doing.

Plus, he didn’t want to hear any more about the blood mage right now. That arrogant criminal wasn’t going anywhere, and he wasn’t killing anyone.

“Actually, I need to find Lalna so I can tell him that we’re going to be working on a different case that takes priority.”

Kirindave looked deflated. “Oh.”

Sjin peered through the darkness at the balcony. From where he stood, he couldn’t see anyone up there, much less Lalna. Resigned, he realized that he was going to have to go and fetch his partner like a parent picking up a child from school.

“I’m sure I saw Lalna go up there,” Kirindave offered helpfully.

“Thanks. Goodbye.”

Sjin moved to leave, but Kirindave followed him. Both stopped. Quickly, Kirindave said, “I would ask Lalna to look into whatever it is that’s infecting you. Something about it reminds me of the magical composition of a curse, although it seems latent for now.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Who knows what might trigger it into becoming far less innocuous.”

Sjin nodded. “If it becomes a problem, I’ll find a way to take care of it.”

Before Kirindave could stop him again, Sjin took off towards the stairwell leading up to the balcony. He was grateful that nobody else came forwards to stop him and talk about cases he wanted to drop. 

It was much cooler and quieter up on the balcony. Only a handful of people mingled about. They hovered near the open windows, which allowed a blessedly cool breeze to blow into the ballroom. Conversing in hushed voices, they contributed a calmer atmosphere to the festive environment throughout the Hall of Craftian Ceremonies. It was marvellously relaxing. Sjin could understand why Lalna would choose the place as his escape.

Lalna was leaning on the rail of the balcony, staring at the fake moon hanging over the orchestra. Sjin marched straight over to him and slapped him on the back of the head.

“Ow,” Lalna whined. He rubbed his head and turned around to face Sjin.

“You said that you were going to help!” Sjin snapped. “Did you actually do anything?”

“None of the people on your list are involved in any type of magic that involves cutting people and drawing blood,” Lalna said. He reached into his pocket and took out a polished geode slice. “This is a lens that can pick out large amounts of blood residue and none of your suspects checked out. Some women though--”

Sjin shook his head. What a fool. “The blood mage might have a way of getting it off, Lalna. He’s made it this far without anyone tracing the attacks back to him. And he,” Sjin trailed off. “Do… do you think it might be a woman?”

Lalna gave Sjin a long look. 

To break the silence, Sjin said, “I think we should drop this case for now.”

“What? Already?” Lalna left the balcony rail and crossed his arms. “What’s changed your mind?

“I’m worried about Sheridan.” 

Lalna’s face fell. “Oh.”

Sjin nodded gravely. “I want to investigate her disappearance before the trail gets cold. I’d actually like to head over there right now. Just look over everything and make sure I didn’t miss anything that might suggest where she is or who hurt her.”

“She might be dead already,” Lalna reminded Sjin.

“I know. But I don’t want to give up on her.”

Lalna looked back out at the crowds of people dancing below. “I want to get back to hunting down Rythian. I know he hasn’t gone far. Don’t worry. I know how to find him.”

Sjin squeezed his fists in annoyance and felt the nails dig into his palms. What the hell was up with Lalna? “Aren’t you a little obsessed with that case?”

Lalna shrugged, still looking out over the ballroom dancefloor. “He’s a criminal, Sjin. He’s just like any other criminal. We put him in prison once. He should stay where he belongs. In prison,” he added.

So it was a matter of pride. Sjin decided to drop it.

~~~~~~

The two detectives stood outside Sheridan’s apartment apprehensively. Now that he knew what lay beyond the door, Sjin felt anxious opening it again. But they had to face this. They couldn’t just abandon a former member of the Magic Police.

Sjin took out the spare key he had found in the apartment after checking for clues to the older detective’s disappearance earlier that day. He unlocked it and illuminated the apartment with a few floating balls of magical light to find the same scene he had seen before. Art torn off the walls, furniture smashed and scattered on the floor, clothing from Sheridan’s bedroom and equipment from her kitchen flung into the living room.

Lalna stepped into the apartment. “Most of this was done afterwards,” he said thoughtfully. He gestured to a few pieces of broken furniture laying on top of one of the dried pools of blood. “See? The blood isn’t staining that. It means that Sheridan was attacked and her apartment was trashed afterwards.”

“I can’t tell if they took anything.” Sjin admitted honestly.

Lalna shook his head. “If they were looking for something, they wouldn’t break furniture like tables and chairs. They would go for boxes and shelves.” He walked around the scene slowly. “They did some of that, but it looks more like they’re hiding something.”

Lalna cast a few more lights into the air. He walked carefully around the ruined apartment, then came to a halt at the bloodstain. He knelt down and narrowed his eyes.

Then he reached down and rubbed at the bloodstain.

“What are you doing?” Sjin asked.

“There’s something written under this.” Lalna said. 

Sjin knelt down next to Lalna. His eyes grew wide as Lalna cleared the clutter away from the blood stain. As pieces of broken furniture and decorations from the walls were moved away, Lalna revealed a pair of eyeballs sitting in the pool of blood. 

Sheridan’s eyes. Although it wasn’t the most grotesque thing he had seen at a crime scene, Sjin was already taking the case very personally. It hurt to see them lying there as though they had been discarded.

Forming a triangle around the eyes were three small cloth pouches linked with black string. Each pouch was sewn tightly shut with the same string. Lalna reached for the pouches, then quickly pulled his hand back.

“It looks like a curse,” Lalna muttered.

Sjin felt his body go cold. “Is it active?”

“Hmm,” Lalna hesitantly poked at one of the bags. Flakes of dried blood broke off the bag and fell to the floor. He took it and withdrew a knife from one of his pockets and carefully cut the bag open. Sand or dust spilled out of it, along with more flakes of dried blood. “No, it doesn’t look complete. They might have run out of time to set it up. Or they were worried that someone heard Sheridan crying out.”

Somehow, that didn’t ease the sick worry that Sjin was feeling. “You’re sure it’s just incomplete? It hasn’t been activated already?”

Lalna stared closer at the triangle. “It’s hard to tell. They might have left something else in the apartment that completes it.”

With that, Sjin and Lalna searched the apartment in silence for an hour. Finally Lalna called to Sjin from the back of the apartment. Sjin came instantly, fearing the worst.

Lalna waved another cloth bag at Sjin, although this one was beautifully embroidered. It was sealed only with a drawstring.

“Is that another piece of the curse?” Sjin asked nervously. 

“No,” Lalna said. “It’s just got some powder for knocking people unconscious. But do you recognize this design? It looks like a witch cult’s design, but I can’t place it.”

Sjin took the bag and turned it over in his hands. “No. But I know who might.”

Lalna raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Cadwell.”


	67. Rythian, seventh day, fifth hour

_His hands holding Rythian’s face in place as he dots it with soft kisses._

Rythian threw a dart at the board. Thump. It hit neatly in the center circle, just like all the others. He left the chair to cross the room and retrieve the darts. Collapsing back into the soft armchair, he took aim at the board again. It was just a painted piece of wood. It wasn’t...

_His fingers grazing against the black threads on his neck through his scarf. Rythian pulls it down slowly and watches his eyes practically glow with delight._

Rythian narrowed his eyes. He threw the next dart with a little more force than was necessary. Thump.

_His mouth lingers on Rythian’s chest, tracing the muscles beneath the skin._

Thump.

_“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “I love you.”_

Thump.

_His face, smeared with tears as he rushes forwards to embrace Rythian. He reeks of alcohol and Rythian doesn’t know if he associates the smell with him or with Ravs anymore._

Thump.

_“Don’t leave me,” he cries as he clings to Rythian tightly. Rythian leaves for Ravs again the next day._

Thump.

_As soon as Rythian enters the house, he feels rough hands seizing him and dragging him up to the bedroom. Lalna tears at his clothes and screams. Rythian starts to fight back but hesitates when the expected scent of liquor is not present on his breath._

Thump. Out of darts, he once again stomped across the space between the chair and the board to retrieve them and continue in his brooding. Rythian’s hand shook when he reached up to pull the darts out. He wished these were daggers.

“You don’t have to stay inside all the time,” Parv said, from somewhere above the place where Rythian was killing time in Strife’s library. Rythian glanced upwards in the direction of his voice and found Parv sitting on the top rung of a ladder, peering down into the lower level of the enormous room. He was holding a very thin paperbound book in one of his hands, but didn’t seem to be reading it.

Rythian stared warily at Parv. “Have you been watching me?” 

Parv smiled and shrugged. “Yeah. Will’s not here right now.” He swung his legs back and forth, making the ladder wobble dangerously. Rythian had no intention of attempting to catch the man if he fell, however. “I was waiting for you to finish blowing off whatever pent up steam you’ve got so I can show you my magic stuff.”

Rythian inwardly scoffed. It would take a lot more than throwing darts to relieve the frustration and anger that had been stewing within him since Lalna came home and announced he was a wanted criminal. 

Parv snapped Rythian out of any brooding he might have started when he stood up on the ladder and placed the book behind him on the shelf. He reached for the ends of his long sleeves and pushed them up his arms, exposing two elaborate tattoos the color of freshly spilled blood. Rythian peered at them from his location on the armchair. Were those even tattoos? They started at his wrists and coiled around his arms like dozens of tiny intertwined snakes. Woven between the lines were small dark red symbols. A ritual, perhaps, just like the tattoo burned onto Rythian’s arm.

But Parv’s tattoos were made of the same magic that broke through the prison walls and sent them flying through the skies above Cratfia, no doubt. 

“It’s a side effect of the stuff I work with,” Parv explained. He let go of the sleeves and they slid back, although most of the red markings were still visible. “What about you?

Rythian pressed his lips together firmly. He was sure there was more to those tattoos than what Parv was telling him, but he wasn’t really interested in the details right now, nor was he interested in divulging all of his secrets to Parvis. He still barely knew these people, apart from the fact that they were paid by an unknown woman to free him from prison, and clearly involved in some illegal activities of their own.

But who wasn’t nowadays?

“You and Will Strife already seem to know quite a lot about me,” he said stiffly. “Who is to say you don’t already know the answer to that question?”

Parv snatched the book from the shelf and slid down the ladder to the floor. “Your criminal records actually didn’t say anything about that. And yeah, I looked at them too, after Will wouldn’t tell me. Of course,” he grumbled, glaring at an innocent table to his left. 

Rythian’s eyes flicked to the unlabeled book in Parv’s hand. They had his police files? The ones that Lalna said he had written about him? Rythian had to read them. He had to see exactly what it was that Lalna said that made him an Undesirable. His trial, if it could even be called that, was just a lot of grandiose accusations of anarchy by that mad Captain Cadwell. The fool didn’t even know about what Ender magic was, and just spouted some bullshit about it being an evil practice that would create a door to the realm of Ender demons.

Even if Rythian could do that, he would never do something that would risk bringing any greater attention on him from Her world. He detested Her and those whispering black and purple beings even more than Lalna.

He realized that he had been staring at the thin book for a while. Parv watched him curiously.

“Can I see those?” Rythian asked, gesturing to the book. 

Parv handed it over. “Can I show you my altar once you’re done? I promise you that it’s really cool and it’s not going to steal your soul. No matter what Will says about it, don’t listen to him. He’s no fun. The altar only takes blood. It’s perfectly safe!”

Rythian nodded absentmindedly. He opened the book and his heart skipped a beat at the neatly written words that greeted him. Some of the handwriting was unfamiliar, but a lot of it was Lalna’s. It was odd seeing it again after so long. He settled comfortably into the armchair and read silently. 

First was the information about what he looked like. Provided by Lalna, certainly.

Next, speculation about Ender magic, all of which was completely incorrect. Much was written in a tight aggressive scrawl, which Rythian guessed might belong to Captain Cadwell. His speculation was further supported by the long paragraphs on linking Ender magic to anarchy and supporting the idea that Rythian should be executed. How charming.

And some detailed accounts of the Magic Police’s encounters with Rythian, as well as some recorded sightings. Rythian remembered these well. Most of the early ones were written by Lalna. At that time, he was still trying to play it all off as a game and he came to Rythian alone. Those reports were mostly falsified and filled with some interesting lies. 

Rythian skimmed through some of those reports as they became more truthful. He had relived those memories for over a year and didn’t need refreshing.

He reached the court transcript from his trial and halted. 

Thump. Rythian looked up to see Parv sitting on the ladder again, throwing darts at the board. “It’s not really that useful,” he admitted as he continued to throw them.

Rythian closed the book. “It means Lalna is hoarding the information,” he said quietly. 

Parv cocked his head. “Who’s that?”

“Lalna is the Magic Police bastard who ratted me out,” Rythian explained, gritting his teeth. “He’s the one I need to kill before I can move on.”

Parvis nodded slowly. “So you need to build up your magic arsenal.”

“I can take him,” Rythian said sharply. He placed the book down on the armrest of his chair and stood up. “He’s a fucking coward at heart.”

He knew Lalna. He knew what that bastard was capable of, even if he had spent a few months imagining that his skills have improved. Just because he teamed up with some people and managed to catch and imprison Rythian, it didn’t mean he was stronger. Lalna would never become a more powerful mage than Rythian. Never.

“Oh,” Parv muttered. He threw the last three darts at once and jumped off the ladder. He landed easily on the floor, like a large cat. “At least let me and Will give you some cool stuff that can go up against his overpowered police gear.”

Rythian didn’t need help. Maybe it was useful having allies that Lalna didn’t know, but he didn’t want to end up relying on them when it came down to their inevitable fight.

He wanted to tear the arrogant prick apart using his own abilities. 

Parv grinned, standing in front of Rythian. “Come see my stuff now, please,” he pleaded. Rythian half expected Parv to grab his hands and pull on them until Rythian followed him to his magical lair.

Rythian relented, “Right. Parvis, I’d love to see your magic setup.” Instantly, Parv’s face lit up and he took off towards the door of the library. There was an actual _bounce_ in his step, and Rythian had to wonder how in the world Will Strife had suffered so long with him.


	68. Ridgedog, seventh day, fifth hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions accidental harming of animals again. Sorry I forgot to warn for that earlier.
> 
> Also, this one is surprisingly lighthearted and funny. It's a nice relief from all the tense stuff that's been going on. Though this is still a drama-heavy fic.

Ridge loved Bebop. He really did. 

He stepped away from the upper class social life when Bebop had his accident and needed someone to take care of him. He spent months developing the best and coolest prosthetics and artificial organs for Bebop. He had the mansion emptied of all of his servants and replaced them with golems when he realized Bebop hated their pitying stares and chatter. He did whatever he could to let Bebop feel normal in his new body, or even better than normal.

He never did it with the expectation that Bebop would thank him. Quite the contrary, now that he was mostly better, Bebop would bang on doors and walls while looking for Ridgedog, complain about how something wasn’t working right, and taunt Ridge’s engineering skills until the part was fixed.

Ridge hadn’t fixed Bebop after the accident as a favor. Everything he did… it was all because it was the right thing to do. Bebop needed someone, and Ridge was one of the most reliable friends he had. And of those reliable friends, Ridge had an intelligence that surpassed many of his contemporaries, as well as access to some of the most advanced scientific and technological breakthroughs and ideas in Craftia.

And Ridge had loved Bebop long before his accident. 

He loved the way Bebop laughed, he loved Bebop’s witty humor, and he loved the way Bebop held onto Ridge’s clothes when he kissed him. He cherished every moment he had spent with Bebop, and he made no distinction between the time when he could lay his head against Bebop’s chest and listen to the steady beat, and the time when he oiled Bebop’s joints to keep them moving smoothly. 

He genuinely loved Bebop and he always would.

But, at times like this, Ridge felt like he was being tested.

Verbal had come home with them after the ball. As he had been protecting Bebop from nosy busybodies, Ridge saw nothing wrong with his presence. And it wasn’t as if he ever needed an invitation to march into the house and demand attention from the golems, Bebop, and Ridge.

However, it was what the man was doing now that was gradually driving Ridgedog further up the metaphorical wall.

Verbal was sitting in front of Bebop, across the room from Ridge, and throwing small screws and bolts through some of the open gaps in Bebop’s exposed metal side while Bebop kept score. Every few seconds, there arose a cheer from the two and they chatted a moment to debate how many points the shot was worth. Interspersed among the celebrations were tiny clinking sounds.

Ridge had only looked over once when the two came in and announced they would be playing their ridiculous game. There was absolutely no reason for the metal that covered up Bebop’s side to have been taken off. Ridge only showed Verbal how to remove it yesterday evening when he had to get access to several of Bebop’s organs to _save his life_. Apparently, Bebop talked Verbal into taking the plating off again for kicks, and the two were now hovering around Ridge, screwing around. It was infuriating and it was indirectly mocking the Ridge’s perfect craftsmanship.

It was also seriously trying Ridge’s patience. All he wanted to do was build a blood altar hidden away in the necromancified bird tower. It would have been better if neither Bebop nor Verbal knew about it, although they would likely have smashed the door down eventually, looking for him.

Bebop’s laughing suddenly turned into a short shriek, accompanied by noisy clanging. “Crap! That fell down into something. Quick, Verbal, flip me over so it can come out. Ahh! I think it’s touching something important!”

“Aw, shit,” Verbal said. There were several more clanging noises, accompanied by a lot of tiny clattering sounds and a much louder bang as the whole floor shook slightly.

Ridge slammed his palms into his forehead. He stood up from where he had been crouching down to carve the runes into the altar and spun around to face Verbal and Bebop. His face fell in shock when he laid eyes on the scene that he had been trying his best to ignore.

All of Bebop’s mechanical side was exposed, and parts of the plating on his arm and leg. The arm was spilling out dozens of bolts as Verbal was trying to lift Bebop’s legs off the ground. Bebop was sprawled on the floor of the tower, poking at his artificial mechanical organs. He tugged on one of them and grumbled when it refused to budge.

Ridge gaped and sobbed in horror. “What did you _do_?” he shrieked. He ran over to the two and gently lowered Bebop back down to the ground. 

“Bebop moved--” Verbal started.

“Verbal threw a bolt against the thing right there,” Bebop protested. He pointed vaguely at the mass of pipes that served as his intestines. Only half of it was exposed, but Ridge couldn’t imagine where the damn bolt would be now if it got tangled up in that 

Ridge stared helplessly at the mess before him for a moment. “I swear, Bebop, I’m going to redesign everything, and make sure that you two won’t be able to fuck your body up.”

Verbal and Bebop both whined in protest. Ridge glared at them both. “Oh, you babies,” he said critically. 

He looked down at Bebop’s arm first. Before he tried to get whatever was stuck in Bebop’s torso extracted, he would need to make sure nothing else could fall in accidentally. The arm wasn’t bad. There were just a few screws and bolts wedged in there. 

Something small and hard bounced off the top of his head. Ridgedog ground his teeth and glared at Bebop, then at Verbal. Each man pointed wordlessly at the other.

“Don’t interrupt me.” Ridge snapped.

It was a good enough threat to keep them behaved for a few minutes at least. Ridge grabbed a pair of pliers and spent that time carefully wrestling each piece of junk from Bebop’s arm cavity.

Finally, he was pulling the last scrap of loose metal from Bebop’s arm. “Aw, I’m out of nuts,” Bebop said. He met Ridge’s eyes and giggled. Ridge broke his scowl with a smile, but quickly turned his attention back to the space in Bebop’s arm.

“I can fit a weapon in here,” he commented.

“Really?” Bebop said excitedly. 

Verbal was interested too. He edged closer and peered into the space he had previously been filling with junk metal. “Can you fit one of those miniature rocket launchers in it? So that he can just slide back the metal and the rocket launcher will come out?”

Ridge examined the dimensions of the space. Unless he made a very small rocket launcher, he would have to adjust the mechanisms that let Bebop move his arm freely. But regardless, there was enough space to fit the launcher there, although the ammunition would have to be carried elsewhere.

“By the way, Ridge, what’s with all the zombie birds?” Verbal asked.

Ridge looked upwards and was once again reminded of the small army of undead birds roosting in the rafters of the tower. They gazed down at him blankly. It was a good thing they didn’t remember being accidentally killed by Bebop. At least they were sort of alive, although they were loosely bound to their old bodies with Ridge’s experimental necromancy.

“Oh. I’m not sure. I was just keeping them around. Last night, I thought I might be able to use them for blood magic sacrifices, but I forgot I drained out most of their blood so they wouldn’t stink up the tower. They’re pretty much useless.”

“What if you made a whole army of dead birds, or dead mobs even?” Verbal suggested. 

Bebop laughed. “Why would Ridge need that?” He chuckled and Ridge watched him finish his merry moment. “Besides, Ridge, necromancy was just a passing thing for you, right?”

“Yeah…” Ridge muttered, although his mind was occupied with brainstorming plans for Verbal’s suggestion, along with a strategy for removing the bolt still stuck in Bebop and a method to build the rocket launcher.

There was a fun week in store for him.


	69. Lalna, seventh day, fifth hour

It was surprisingly easy to request an audience with Cadwell. The pair of wardens at Tercentennial laughed with some form of relief when Lalna and Sjin explained that they wanted to see their former captain. They met with the two female administrators of the prison just outside the white stone building, near the small fountain that split the walkway to the main entrance in two.

“Oh, he’s been asking about you two for weeks,” the taller warden explained. She shook her head with a small smile. “The last Magic Detective who came by was Sheridan, and my guards told me that she had the worst argument with him. She promised the guard that she wouldn’t be coming back. So, since then, he always asks about you two.” 

“He says ‘they’re the only ones I can trust now’,” the shorter warden added in a tone similar to Cadwell’s light growl. “We were a bit worried he might get restless and disruptive again, but thankfully that hasn’t been the case yet. He’s a lot calmer, especially compared to when he first came here.”

“So we can see him now?” Sjin asked. “We need to ask him something that pertains to an investigation of ours.”

“Yeah, sure,” the short warden said. “He’s been good lately, so you can keep your gear, but we need to make sure you’re accompanied by at least two guards.”

Lalna and Sjin agreed, and soon they were on their way down to a lower level of the prison. Tercentennial was much smaller than Angel’s Keep. It had its own share of magical criminals, but no Undesirables. Lalna had occasionally wondered if Cadwell would actually attack the Undesirables in the prison if he had the chance. He had heard that Cadwell got in a few fights initiated by other magical inmates that he arrested, but those ended with relatively few injuries.

Once they reached the cell, one of the two guards opened it, then let the detectives in. It was much roomier and more comfortable than the detainment cells at Angel’s Keep. Sjin and Lalna stepped inside and one of the guards entered behind them while the other shut the door and locked it. They stopped once they were a short distance inside the cell, having both caught sight of the inhabitant. He was sitting against the wall writing in a book, which he set down upon seeing who had just entered.

“Captain?” Sjin called out shakily. Lalna stood at his side and waited. 

Cadwell moved forwards and Lalna got a closer look at the man who had taught him so much about magic and how to capture dangerous criminals. He looked surprisingly well. His hair was longer, but it still appeared to be trimmed. His gold-brown eyes shone in the electrical lights fixed into the ceiling of the cell. 

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite two boys from Magic Police,” he said with some awe. His face cracked into a familiar lopsided smile. “Didn’t expect to see you anytime soon. Sheridan said you were busy last time she came around. I thought I would see Bleeze or Zedock before you got time to catch up.” His smile morphed into a grin and he clapped his hands against his hips. “I expect you’ve been busy running the Magic Police now, keeping Craftia free of all the mage and witch scum, huh?”

“Uh, yeah...” Sjin trailed off. Lalna shot him a quick warning look. They couldn’t let him know about Sheridan, not yet. Sjin returned the gesture with the barest hint of a nod.

“So is this a social visit?” Cadwell asked, eyes turning hard on the two. He crossed his arms and waited for an answer. The posture reminded them unnervingly of how he used to start interrogating friends and families of Undesirables.

Lalna shook his head and stepped forwards. “No. We found something in an investigation and we think you might be able to tell us more about it.” He took the pouch out of his pocket and stepped closer to the cell. Instantly, the guard was at his side and she held out her hand expectantly. Lalna let her take it and she squinted suspiciously at the little bag.

She turned it over in her hands, opened it and peered inside, then handed it back. “Safe,” she said dryly. “You can show it to him. But if you’re giving it to him, the wardens need to see it.”

“We’ll be taking it back with us,” Sjin explained as Lalna passed the bag over to Cadwell.

Cadwell took the witch’s bag with visible interest. His eyes promptly narrowed as he examined the design. “Where did you see this?”

“What is it from?” Sjin asked. Lalna knew that wasn’t going to divert Cadwell’s attention.

“Where?” Cadwell demanded. He might have rushed forwards to seize Sjin if it were not for the presence of the guard behind Sjin and Lalna.

“We found it at a failed ritual circle.” Lalna supplied. “That was left behind, but--”

“Don’t go after them without backup,” Cadwell said. He tossed the bag back in their direction Sjin caught it elegantly in one hand. “That belongs to a member of the worst dark witch coven in Craftia.” Cadwell went on, pausing to twist his expression into one of absolute disgust. He shook his head and moved over to the left side wall of the cell. “They call themselves The Delighted. Bunch of powerful witches with a very clever leader who keeps them out of sight. Their old leaders and most of the members were all on the Undesirable list, but even as we were bringing them in, they told me that they had a backup faction who would amass more power, free their old leaders, and get revenge on the government and the Magic Police.”

Cadwell crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of his cell. He glanced at the guard and sighed. Bitterly, he continued, “I wanted to execute the old leaders to deter the new faction from trying to break into Angel’s Keep to free their people. At least that place is impenetrable. But you two,” he hesitated and examined Lalna and Sjin carefully. “I hear there’s going to be a change in political leadership soon. If the new leaders are more willing to enact the death sentence, you need to get together with Sheridan and Zedock and Bleeze. And Windlass if the poor woman’s got her mind back. Give Craftia a show it’ll never forget.”

Sjin looked apprehensive. Lalna forced a grim smile and saluted his former captain. “We’ll keep our eyes out, Captain. Thanks for the warning.”

“See ya,” Cadwell said. He didn’t wave.

No further words were spoken as the guard escorted them back into the passageway and locked the door on Cadwell again. Only when they were walking back towards the entrance to Tercentennial did Lalna turn to Sjin mid stride and say as offhandedly as possible:

“I have something I need to do for my case, Sjin. Can I leave you with this for now?”

Thankfully, Sjin was looking over the embroidery again. “Yeah, sure. I’ll see what I can find on The Delighted. I’m not going to try to find them, so don’t worry.”

~~~~~~

Lalna remembered how Rythian would tease him when he tried to start scrying.

_“Scrying is for people with actual magic talent. You just stick to your dumb science and make a mess of everything.”_

Standing in an empty room on the highest floor of his house with the windows wide open to allow the chilled, smoky air to enter freely, Lalna smirked. He traced the edges of a plain round mirror and whispered, “How good is my scrying now, Rythian? You’re not hidden by the magical wards in the prison anymore. I’ll be able to see you just fine.”

He sat down in the center of the room, gripped the sides of the mirror and focused hard. The spell wasn’t difficult to initiate anymore, but it was a challenge to focus it on finding exactly what he wanted. Still, he’d had a lot of practice since his numerous failed attempts at tracking Rythian down when the damn coward was hiding from him with Ravs and Notch knew who else.

Lalna watched the surface of the mirror ripple, as if he had thrown a pebble into a small puddle of water. His reflection vanished in the ripples and soon shadows and blurred shapes began to form on the magical glass. Lalna breathed slowly and waited.

Finally, the shadows partially melted away, the ripples calmed down, and the blurs transformed into clear colors and shapes.

Lalna inhaled sharply at the image. 

It actually worked on the first attempt. In the mirror, he could see the top half of Rythian, who was standing in a dark room dimly lit with torches. One of the flaming lights was close enough to illuminate Rythian’s face, which was cool and passive.

Lalna’s heart yearned at the sight. It was only a brief moment caught by a magical spell in a small mirror, but it was so much better than all of his dreams and memories. It was so much better than thinking of the last time he saw Rythian, when the man was in the worst of moods and swearing at him. Rythian looked only slightly different than he looked a year ago. His hair was darker, the blond streak was almost completely faded away, and he wasn’t wearing the style of clothes he liked. Also, a few purple-black veins were poking up from behind his scarf.

No, wait. Lalna leaned closer as the mirror rippled gently. The image couldn’t come into focus soon enough.

Rythian had lifted a hand to his face and was willingly pulling down his scarf. His mouth was moving, so he must have been talking to someone. Lalna wished he could hear whatever Rythian was saying. He missed that beautiful voice that had spoken about the most mundane things and screamed his name when they fucked. 

The surface of the mirror rippled again and Lalna glared at the shapes as they cleared again. A hand had emerged from just out of the range of the scrying glass and touched the black veins. Touched Rythian’s skin--his face.

Lalna’s blood boiled. Only _he_ could touch Rythian like that. 

He watched in silent rage and gripped the mirror tightly as Rythian let the mystery person continue to touch him. Even when Rythian was in a good mood, he never let Lalna touch him like that. 

With the next image from the scrying mirror, a blurred shape of a person moved close, too close, into the range of the spell. What happened next made Lalna throw the mirror against the ground in fury.

“You fucking slut,” Lalna hissed at the shattered pieces on his floor. He stood up and stomped over to the shards. Only his reflection showed in them now, but the image of Rythian kissing someone else still burned in his mind. “So it wasn’t just Ravs. You’ll fucking sleep with anyone who isn’t me, won’t you?” He stormed across the room and hurled handfuls of magical lightning out the window, into the smoggy clouds. They disappeared, but one of the larger bolts struck a tall metal weather vane across from Lalna’s home.

He managed to smile at that. It was a small amount of damage, but he would do better soon.

Lalna glared at the place where the glass shattered. “You can’t run, Rythian,” he vowed. “Not from me.”


	70. Strife, seventh day, sixth hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My finals are finally over and I have most of the stuff that has an imminent deadline sorted out, so time to write again!

The woman held the same valise as the last time Strife had seen her. Dressed in a fashionable cream-colored dress, she sat on the edge of a small patterned sofa covered with simple embroidered pillows in the living room of her apartment. She had two gently steaming cups of tea sitting on the elegant wooden coffee table between her and Strife’s seats. The sky outside was dismal and overcast, so the woman had the curtains drawn and several magical golden lamps illuminating the room. 

Despite the quality furnishings, Will could tell this was still only a temporary waiting place for the woman. There had been no name written on the sign near the door when he arrived, all of the items that decorated the apartment were rather generic, and the teacup felt brand new when he lifted it in his hand. Clearly, this woman and her employer had not known how long it would take to free Rythian.

To be fair, Strife hadn’t known he would be able to free Rythian so easily. Parv’s troublesome and terrifying fake blood magic had actually proven useful. Strife might admit someday, when Parv wasn’t trying to force it out of him, that the magic was a valuable resource.

“Well done, Mister Strife,” the woman said. She drummed her fingers lightly on the handle of the valise. “When you sent the news, I contacted my employer. She is very pleased at the speed with which you carried out her request.”

Strife nodded. He resisted the urge to retrieve Rythian’s lifestone from his pocket again. The meeting had started at a slow pace, but as long as he kept his patience, he would hopefully be able to steer it in the direction he wanted soon.

He had brought the lifestone because he expected that the woman would want some proof that Rythian was out of the prison. Rythian refused to let Strife take his scarf, so the lifestone was the only other personal and identifiable object the mage possessed. The woman only had to touch the stone to believe Strife’s explanation despite the lack of news coverage of the prison escape. Will knew enough about lifestones to that a portion of Rythian’s magical life essence resided permanently in the stone. Anyone with the capability to sense magical power would be able to tell the nature of its owner.

The woman moved closer to the table and set the valise down on the smooth surface, right next to the tea cups. Will left it where it was. It wasn’t going anywhere and he was still expecting her final instructions. 

“Will you be able to escort Rythian to a location outside of the city?” The woman picked up her tea cup and sipped at it. “If so, my employer will be ready to receive him.”

She made it sound like Rythian was a thing to be delivered. Strife did not let his business face falter although he found it a tad disturbing. “The Magic Police are likely aware of his escape. I was hoping to wait for a few days longer until I moved him out of the city.” He hesitated. The woman didn’t seem to be disappointed by that response. “I take it that your employer won’t have time to meet with me? Just as a way to conclude this business transaction.”

That being said, Strife had no intention of forcing Rythian to do anything he didn’t want to do. If these people weren’t really his former associates, Strife could hardly imagine why complete strangers would hire him and pay him in such a rare resource. For a person like Rythian, who would likely not stay with them, no less!

The woman shook her head, mouth set in a firm line. “I don’t think she will. If she does arrive in Craftia and she wishes to meet with you, I will contact you again.”

“Then where should I send Rythian once it’s safer to move him out of Craftia?” Strife reached for his teacup and sipped from it once more, although he didn’t pay much attention to the flavor. 

“I’ll send a message with that information later today,” she said. Gesturing at the valise with her free hand, she asked, “Did you want to check that?”

Strife looked back at the valise. The woman was trying to end the meeting. He hadn’t found out much about the employer for his own knowledge, or for Rythian. It wasn’t appropriate yet to ask any details about the employer, and besides, it would be apparent that he was trying to fish for information.

It was unfortunate, but it seemed that he still had to play by this woman’s rules. 

At least he would have his nether stars. 

He set the teacup down and reached for the valise. The woman made no move to stop him, so he took it off the table and into his lap. Strife unzipped the heavy bag and the glow of four nether stars greeted his eyes. Just as before, Will was entranced by their ethereal beauty. There was so much mystery and power and opportunity in these four magical crystals. His concern for Rythian partially faded away to be replaced by his imagination for how he could use each of the nether stars. 

Even if he wouldn’t be able to get the last four due to some rebellious actions on Rythian’s part, he still had six of these. _Six_. It was more than he ever thought he would see in his lifetime. And they were _his_.

Strife closed the valise and offered a faint smile at the woman. “Is there anything else you needed to discuss?”

“No,” she said. “I just hope that the Magical Police may become distracted enough that Rythian is able to escape the city without any notice.”

Strife nodded in agreement, but his mind was buzzing with a new idea.

If the Magic Police was busy dealing with another problem--Rythian or anything else--they wouldn’t be concerned with Parvis, right? He could spend that narrow window of time cleaning up the mess that Parv had left behind since he started screwing around with blood magic.

Will just needed to talk to the right people to get a bit of help with that idea.

~~~~~~

The research team was quite curious when Strife entered their department office with a valise. He imagined that he must look rather silly with it, considering his usual attire. His style just didn’t match up with valises in general, although the material almost coordinated with his outfit that day.

They were perhaps even more intrigued when Strife dropped the valise unceremoniously on the main project table next to a few diagrams that had been laid out. 

“What’s in the bag?” Cleora, one of the researchers, drew near and reached for it. When Strife did nothing to stop her, she went ahead and moved it closer to the edge of the table so she could open it up. Another pair of researchers, named Emory and Jehu, came to hover at her back. 

As soon as the contents of the valise were revealed, the three gasped. Lakeshia and Alva, the last two researchers in the room, quickly rushed over to their side. 

“Oh Notch…” Jehu breathed. “Nether stars? And there’s two of them?”

Strife smiled. “Yes. I believe Cleora had a theory on how to use them. You wanted to use a magical energy source that didn’t run out, right? Well, there you go.”

“How in the world--” Alva began.

“Oh, but I’ll need a klein star.” Strife interjected. At the researchers’ questioning glances, he shrugged. “It’s a sort of a trade.”

“Who in their right mind would trade nether stars for a klein star?” Lakeshia said, gazing in wonder at the nether stars, which were now laying on the project table.

“I don’t care,” Emory said. He left the project table and rooted through several clouded glass jars on a cluttered desk in the corner of the room. Soon, he returned with a jar containing a shimmering silvery star. It shone steadily through the opaque glass that surrounded it, but its light still paled in comparison to even a single nether star.

“This one is the nicest one we’ve made,” he informed Strife as he handed it over. “It’s nothing like the nether star’s power--or at least what we imagine its power is like, but it’s the best that Strife Industries can offer. Lakeshia and Cleora,” he took a moment to glance back at the two mages in question, “both say it’s the most powerful and cleanest star they’ve worked with.”

Strife took the jar. “Thank you. This will do perfectly.” He tucked it under his arm and watched the researchers quickly become absorbed in the two nether stars. He smiled again and chuckled softly. 

It was a shame they might only be able to work with two nether stars. But Parv said that nether stars were important in some future tier of blood magic. And, well… Parv _had_ helped Strife on the job that got the nether stars, so it was only fair that Strife give him some of them.

Also, two nether stars was miraculous, but still somewhat believable. Four nether stars appearing out of nowhere started to bring questions, even among people who were paid well to keep their mouths shut.

Will left the room and started back for his carriage. There was no reason to wander around the tower while carrying around an instrument for magic. It was best to take the nether stars back to Parv soon, return the lifestone to Rythian, and give the Ender mage the klein star to start building up his magic again.


	71. Nilesy, seventh day, sixth hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simple sweet chapter that sets up some stuff for future development.

Chimes hanging in front of the shop windows rang softly in the winds that blew in from the open door. Nilesy was kneeling at the base of a large potted camellia bush, clearing some of the dead leaves away from the soil. He dropped the damp leaves onto the floor of the shop. Lomadia would make him clean it up later, but he was fine with that. He placed his hands against the earth covering the roots of the plant and smiled at the rich feeling of the Sips Co. fertilizer.

He got up and checked the plant over admiringly. This flower bush had just been getting too big for the garden in the back. The fertilized earth had allowed it to grow from a clipping to a full bush in a mere fraction of the usual time. And yet, it grew strong and sturdy as any other normal camellia bush.

There was a small, almost-negligible change in the wind chimes and Nilesy turned towards the door. A customer stood hesitantly in the door. As she stepped into the shop, Nilesy recognized her.

Silvia from Sips Co. She smiled politely at Nilesy.

“Ah, hello,” she said. Her posture was tense but her tone was soft and professional. 

Nilesy brushed most of the dirt off his pants, onto the stained apron he wore over his trousers. He clasped his hands together and offered a warm, welcoming smile. “Hello, Miss Silvia. Is there something I can do for Sips Co. today?”

Silvia nodded and bit at her lips for a second. “Mister Sips sent me to collect some potted plants or flowers for a new company garden at the headquarters branch. Anything that you would recommend that would make for a nice centerpiece.”

Nilesy looked over the potted plants and flowers in the shop. “Does he want magical or nonmagical?”

“He didn’t say…” Silvia said, voice tinged with regret. As she trailed off, she stared helplessly at the wide variety of plants. “I suppose a mixture of both would be fine?”

“Alright,” Nilesy started pointing out flowers and plants. “We’ve got a small lemon tree over there that would smell very nice, and it would give you guys lemons too. If it grows in Sips Co. dirt, it might get big though.”

“That sounds good,” Silvia commented. 

“And if you want some flowers, we have some nice orchids.” Nilesy directed Silvia over to a large cluster of potted orchids. “Some of them are magical, and they’ll either play music or sparkle. Lomadia grew one that keeps other flowers close by watered, but you’ll still need to check on the others. And some sparkle too. Those are pretty lovely.”

“Oooh,” Silvia cooed. She leaned close to one of the orchids and it chimed gently at her. She beamed. “Yes, I’ll take some of these back too.”

“And if you want a centerpiece besides the lemon tree…” Nilesy looked around the shop. “Hm, we’ve got some nice rose bushes. There’s also that camellia bush right there. I guarantee it will grow very big. In Sips’ fertilizer, I am sure that it will have flowers most of the year.”

“Perfect!” Silvia exclaimed. “I have a cart outside. I’ll take the lemon tree, the camellia bush, some of the singing orchids, and some normal orchids too.”

Nilesy chuckled. He wished he could see Sips’ face when he saw the plants that his secretary brought back. It was intriguing that Sips wanted to make a company garden all of a sudden. His headquarters building was surprisingly bleak for a company that made fertilizer and dirt. Maybe Nilesy or Lomadia could ask Sips about the sudden interest in gardening when they dropped off more zombie corpses in exchange for their fertilizer. Although, Sips might give them a few free deliveries in exchange for the plants that Silvia was ordering now.

Silvia crossed back to the door and called out, “Could you come in and help bring out the plants?” 

A young male driver entered a moment afterwards. Together with Nilesy, they maneuvered the heavier pots containing the camellia bush and the large lemon sapling out to the sturdy steel cart. Then, Nilesy took out the magical orchids that Silvia pointed at while the driver took the nonmagical ones. Each pot was secured by several elastic cords to prevent them from slipping. 

Silvia waited at the door for Nilesy to return after taking out the last of the orchids. “Sips said that he would count this as payment for the next few deliveries,” she said cautiously, as if she was afraid Nilesy might get angry. Nilesy tried to adjust his expression so he appeared more pleasant and kind to her. Silvia relaxed slightly. “Ah, but I still feel that you can use some payment if you’d like! Was there any amount--”

“We can work it out later,” Nilesy assured the secretary. He let out a short laugh. “You could add a sign near the flowers that says they’re from Rose Blossom Florists, if you want.”

Silvia’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that would be a nice thing to add! Are you sure you don’t want to give me an invoice or anything?”

Nilesy considered it. “We’ll send a letter and an invoice later.”

“Take as much time as you need, Mister Nilesy,” Silvia said.

Nilesy felt something softly brushing against his leg. He glanced down and saw Fishbone staring up at him with large eyes. The cat braced himself and leapt up onto Nilesy’s shoulder. He sat down on his new perch and his long tail rested against Nilesy’s arm. Silvia watched, entranced.

“That’s such a beautiful cat,” she murmured.

“Yes he is,” Nilesy said proudly. He patted Fishbone’s back and felt a hot wave of mana wash down his arm and into his torso. A trickle of the mana reached his neck and traveled up to his head. Nilesy blinked and waited for the familiar’s voice to echo in the back of his mind, as it always did at times like this.

‘Lomadia is going to H.A.T. Corp. She didn’t think to leave a note.’

“Anyway,” Silvia said, breaking Nilesy out of the small trance. “I’ll be going now. Thank you so much for your help!”

“Yeah, bye,” Nilesy muttered. He watched Silvia return to her cart, then remained at the door until the cart was out of sight.

Then he left the door and moved further into the shop. 

“So does she know anything about the stuff that’s turning Nano into a magically infected eggplant?” Fishbone meowed and hopped off Nilesy’s shoulder. The cat sat on the floor and began licking at his paw. Nilesy frowned and sat down on a stool.

“Hope she and Smiffy learn something about it soon,” he said to the cat.


	72. Sjin, seventh day, seventh hour

Sjin didn’t have time to waste trying to find the former members of the Magic Police. After hurrying back to the office, he had Helene check the notes left by Cadwell and the others for any mention of The Delighted: names, connections, relatives, locations. Even if it was old information, it would still be a start. 

Helene helped him to compare the addresses with current records, to see if any of them were invalid, or to see if any of the names matched up. Several of the addresses were now owned by those suspected of being related to the known members of The Delighted. And a few of those locations were frighteningly close to Sheridan’s apartment. Sjin and Helene pored over a map of the districts surrounding Sheridan’s old home and pondered which ones should be investigated first.

“Wait just a minute,” Helene said slowly. She peered closer at the lines on the map. “Those lighter lines are the sewers, right? There’s one that goes straight from outside Sheridan’s place to one of the Delighted’s places.”

Sjin traced the line that Helene had pointed out and took note of the validity of her observation. “Incredible,” he whispered. He seized the documents Helene had pulled aside earlier and found the information that correlated with that address. “Oh, that’s odd,” he said. “According to Windlass’ old notes, that was a bookshop. The upper floors were used for dark rituals in the past. She says that they destroyed everything in the shop though…”

Helene caught Sjin’s gaze. She looked worried and apprehensive. She stood tense, still leaning over the map. “Even so… it would still have a powerful link to the demons and spirits they worked with, wouldn’t it, Sjin? Even if it was destroyed.”

Sjin’s eyes widened. He scanned the map one final time and raced across the room to one of the windows. He pushed it open as far as it would allow, slid out of the opening, and fell into the air. His rockets caught just in time and he soared away into the sky above Craftia. 

The rockets had a limit for the highest speed at which they could travel; in response Sjin wove a quick, efficient spell around his body. His magic twisted the air into a loose whirlwind and cut through the wind currents more easily, giving him a significant boost in his acceleration. Sjin raced over the buildings and the streets, crossing over people and modes of transportation and pieces of architecture protruding over the rooftops. As he passed over the city, he pressed a hand against the pocket that held the small pouch from Sheridan’s apartment. 

A small trace of a witch’s magical signature clung to it. Even if there had been a struggle, The Delighted had waited long enough to leave the partial curse in the apartment. They at least had the time to ensure that the curse wouldn’t be seen right away. They must have left the bag purposefully. They must have known how much information the Magic Police had on them. Their second faction had avoided the Magic Police for this long, so they certainly weren’t making mistakes. It hadn’t taken long to trace the bag back to The Delighted, either. So was this all intentional? Was he heading straight into a trap?

Maybe.

But Sjin needed to do something. He wasn’t helpless and he could defend himself just fine against most witches and mages. He just needed to know if Sheridan was still alive. 

The city’s streets were spread out like the map below him. He followed them in a frenzied sequence, picking out the path that led to the building owned by a friend of one of the old members of The Delighted. He slowed down as he approached and hovered just above the small stone bookshop. Candles waited in the windows, shedding a faint light outside and inside the place. 

Sjin switched off the power on his rockets but kept the spell as it was. He slowly started to descend to the ground on the swirling air surrounding his body. As he dropped nearer to the ground, he sent out small threads of the magical wind to blow out the candles in the windows. The wind squeezed itself through miniscule cracks between the frames and panes and made its way inside, where the flames were extinguished within seconds.

His feet touched down on the cobblestone street. Sjin took several strides forwards and halted briefly when he stepped on something smooth. He glanced down at his feet. It was a manhole cover, plain and unassuming. Doubtless, it led down into the sewers that The Delighted used to bring Sheridan to the former bookshop. The door of the building was opening, however, which drew his attention away. Sjin narrowed his eyes and approached the place that belonged to someone connected to The Delighted. 

“I figured you would be here sooner or later, Magic Police,” came a young feminine voice. Sjin squeezed his fists together, mentally preparing a barrage of spells and defenses should there come an attack.

Emerging from the bookshop was a small young woman with glasses and dark messy hair, dressed in a simple white dress. She held her hands in the air, and a smug smile was fixed upon her face. 

“I’m not going to do anything to you,” she said.

Sjin threw a spell at her when she took another step and she slid backwards a few meters. Her smile slipped off her face and she blinked rapidly, then looked around in confusion.

“Oh, that wasn’t very nice.”

“Is Sheridan in there?” Sjin demanded.

The woman touched a hand to her head and gazed around, still disoriented and blinded. “No. She’s not been here for a while. We sent her off with the underground delivery boys. I doubt you’ll be able to find her now.”

Sjin stomped forwards to stand in front of the young woman. “What did The Delighted do? What are you doing here?”

The woman turned to face Sjin, although her eyes were still blindly searching out for him. “I’m a nobody in The Delighted. Killing me isn’t going to help your pathetic Magic Police bitch. But you should know what we have done. We gave you Magic Police a warning when you captured our family members.”

Sjin flung another spell at the woman and she disappeared, whisked away into a magical holding cell far across the city. He took a few breaths to steady himself, then directed his attention to the open door. Carefully, he approached the darkened bookshop.

The interior of the building was unbelievably dark when Sjin stepped foot inside. He sent out needles of brightly pulsing golden light towards each direction he assumed there was a wall. Each needle illuminated a small patch of space, so Sjin continued to light up the place until the walls were covered in the needles. He was impressed and a little stunned at the sight.

The place that was once a bookshop was empty of furniture, interior walls, or floors that may have been there at one time, apart from a stone floor in what once had been a narrow cellar with just enough room to crawl. Above, the remains of the large wooden rafters that had once supported the floors were charred and blackened. The smell of smoke was long gone, but Sjin could imagine how this place had been torched, probably by Cadwell in one of his rages upon not finding the information he wanted. Sjin squinted through the faint light offered by his magical needles into the cellar space.

It was smudged and stained with blood and a complicated chalk circle had recently been drawn onto the stone floor. Sjin grimaced at the excessive amount of dried blood in the center of the circle. 

The chances of finding Sheridan alive were even slimmer now. He shut the door as he left the burned shop and sealed it with a standard spell to keep nosy neighbors and passersby out. Later, he would need to conduct a thorough investigation on that circle, if only to find out what ritual The Delighted had performed.

Sjin returned his sights to the metal cover. 

“Underground delivery boys,” he repeated to himself. 

He knelt down next to the manhole and pulled it up and onto the cobblestones. He sent several of his golden needles of light down into the large drain below. They attached to the sides of the sizable hole leading down. Sjin could hear water flowing, far below.

He also heard something like footsteps. 

Sjin smirked and dropped himself into the tunnel, weaving a spell around him once again to slow his fall as he reached the stone platform beside the flowing water. The sewage tunnel was larger than he had expected, with about an extra meter of space above his head. Dark slime coated the curved walls of the tunnel and the platform he stood upon. The water rushing past smelled like refuse and vomit, and the cold, humid air that filled the sewer was no better. Sjin threw out several more golden needles and was rewarded with the sight of a panicked man, about his age, pushing a small cart along the platform. The man turned around and stared at Sjin with wide eyes, and then spun back around and tried to flee into the darkness.

“Stop right there!” Sjin shouted. He froze the man in place with a less aggressive spell than the one he used on the witch before.

The man began thrashing where he stood. “I didn’t do anything!” 

Sjin ran over to the man and lit up more of the cold, damp tunnel. “I need to ask you something.”

The man looked over his shoulder again. If he wasn’t stuck by the spell, Sjin might have been intimidated by his height and by the muscles that were exposed by his short sleeved shirt. Fingerless gloves covered his large hands, which were holding the handle of the cart in a death grip. He wore a pair of stained goggles over his eyes, and much of his head was covered by a helmet with a small dying electric light fixed over his forehead. As Sjin watched, the little light bulb started flickering. The man’s lips twitched slightly beneath his thick brown beard. “Yeah, what’s that?”

“Have you heard of an underground delivery service?” Sjin asked.

The man stared at Sjin’s uniform, then frowned suspiciously back at Sjin’s face. While he wasn’t thrashing around anymore, his tense posture was still a tad intimidating. His eyes narrowed. “What if I have?”

“Tell me what you know about it,” Sjin said. He tried to relax and project confidence, but when he found that wasn’t happening, he added, “Or I’ll take you back to the station and interrogate you properly there.” He could at least threaten this guy with his authority, right?

“That’s not necessary!” The man’s hands tightened on the cart he was pushing. He looked from side to side. Sjin relaxed a bit, reassured that he had shaken the man. 

“Underground delivery… it’s a bunch of people. There’s nobody in charge, and there’s not much organization. I might’ve worked with them a bit. They move things around for other people. Things that you don’t want people seeing. They make things disappear.”

Sjin glanced at the cart. It was small and would have appeared innocent were it not for the dirty sheet covering the contents. “Things? That’s awfully vague. Do you mean things like human bodies?”

The man shrugged. “W--they don’t turn down anything, so long as they’re offered the right price.”

Sjin moved around the man and gingerly touched the edge of the sheet. The man breathed in sharply and he tried to pry his hands away from their place on the handle of the cart, with no success.

“What else do you want from me! They make sure things disappear! Please don’t arrest me! It’s just a harmless job! I don’t have anything illegal, I swear!”

Sjin pulled the sheet off the cart and stared at the contents. The cart was full of jars of colored liquids labeled with symbols rather than letters. The man looked from his cart to Sjin, steadily becoming more relaxed when he saw that Sjin didn’t appear to be angry at whatever was in the jars. 

Sjin picked up one of the jars and tried to determine what the substance was, but he didn’t recognize it at all. The man’s eyes followed his movements. An idea formed in Sjin’s mind, a plan to force maybe a bit more information out of the man. He made a motion as if he were about to throw it against the side of the sewer. The man tensed and cried out, “No!”

“If you wanted to dispose of a body, where would you take it?” Sjin asked, in an even tone.

“Sips Co. is the best at handling stuff like that,” the man said. His eyes were locked on the jar. “We send bodies to them and they buy them off us. We don’t make much off them, but we get paid plenty to take them off of people who want to make some bodies go away.”

“Sips Co.” Sjin repeated. Now that was ridiculous. He laughed at the absurdity. “What? The _dirt_ company? They deal with _bodies_?”

“Please just let me go,” the man begged. “I have to get this across the city. If you need to ask me anything else, my name’s Strippin. People who work down here know me and you’ll be able to find me. I swear I haven’t been lying.”

Sjin placed the jar back onto the cart and broke the spell that held Strippin in place. His body jerked as it regained control of itself, then he quickly directed the cart around Sjin. “I’ll be back to arrest you if this claim turns out to be a lie,” he threatened. 

Strippin was already turning down a linking tunnel, out of sight.


	73. Strife, seventh day, seventh hour

On the journey back from the Solution Tower, Strife stopped at one of his favorite bookshop cafes for a cup of coffee or three. It was wonderfully strong and he sipped it hot without sugar and cream. He relaxed and settled into his small seat near a window made with colored glass panes as he started to feel the effects of the caffeine. 

He crossed his arms and gazed at the window, though he wasn’t paying the simple design any attention. He had important things to decide upon before he returned to the carriage waiting outside. It was time to start thinking about how to protect Parv from the Magic Police. 

He liked Rythian well enough, but the mage seemed antsy. Strife had the feeling that Rythian was yearning for a confrontation with the Magic Detectives responsible for putting him in prison. Not that Strife felt any need to berate him for that. If Rythian wanted revenge, then that was his choice. May Notch bless him in his endeavors, whatever they might be. But, even if Rythian left Will and Parvis soon, the Ender mage would not be a distraction for long. Unless he actually went with those people who hired Will. Still...

Perhaps it was time for Strife to exchange favors with Ridgedog and Bebopvox again. He had given Ridge some of his designs a while ago to help out Bebop. They were both still on good terms with him. Asking for a distraction that would sufficiently distract the Magic Police long enough for Parv to properly hide his blood magic artifacts might be a large favor to ask, but Strife didn’t know who else he could turn to for help.

He sipped at his third cup of coffee and was mildly surprised to it empty. After staring into the bottom of the cup for a few seconds, he finally set it down and went to the counter of the cafe to drop off the three cups. He then wandered over into the bookshop side of the business.

Strife browsed the older, slightly dustier sections of the bookshop, still thinking about how and what specifically to ask of Ridge. He should bring some sort of gift when he arrived. Maybe something that could improve Bebop’s prosthetics. He had a design for an improved eye sitting around somewhere at home. No doubt Ridge had already fixed whatever issue Bebop had experienced during the ball, but they might still appreciate a possible alternative to the artificial eye they were using now...

Will gazed at a shelf at the back of the shop for almost a minute as his mind still raced. Eventually, he blinked and considered reading the titles. One of the titles written on the spine jumped out at him instantly. At first, Strife didn’t want to touch the book, let alone read it. A title like _A Survey of Craftia’s Most Heinous Undesirables_ didn’t exactly sound like reading material. Not that he entered the bookshop looking for a particular type of book.

He took it off the shelf and bought it anyway. It was a bit old, so he didn’t expect many of the more recent Magical Undesirables to be listed. Still, the title sounded like its content was relevant to his recent life choices.

Strife waited until he was back in the carriage to start looking through the book. Written by a former secretary of the Craftian police, it started out with a short history of Craftia, from its laws to its structure. It was nothing new, although it was interesting to hear the archaic political connotation surrounding several sensitive events.

Amazingly enough, there was a table of contents. One entry caught Strife’s attention immediately.

Will quickly found the page it referenced and read carefully.

_229 a.u.c. The Blood-Drinking Witch Hunts_

_During the last week of the Post-Yule Moon, at the first hour, the mutilated body of a woman believed to be Electa Gosling was discovered suspended by the right arm from a oil lamp post. The woman’s face was marred beyond recognition, and her body showed signs of multiple puncture wounds. Her blood was drained and replaced partially with salted water. It was an event that shook the city and the police force, headed by the Honourable…_

_…Every night, a new body was found, always drained of blood and defaced by burns or lacerations. However, the wounds responsible for the blood loss varied, as most of the victims suffered up to three dozen puncture wounds, and a smaller number suffering less than six lacerations, usually upon the arms, abdomen, and neck. ~SEE BLOOD MAGIC THEORY, PAGE 572..._

_...Two magical advisors aiding the pursuit of the criminals suggested blood magic as a possible explanation for the crimes, as its theorized nature is to drain a sacrifice of its blood until its death, and to offer its soul or spirit to the demon supplying the blood mage’s power…_

_...with the discovery of the mutilated and as-of-yet unidentifiable Goldwater Fountain Bodies, the blood magic theories were dismissed. The Goldwater Fountain, in which seven bodies were found, showed a variety of puncture wounds and lacerations, leading the Honourable Inspector Glass to the conclusion that there were at least two murderers, who differed according to their methods, but likely shared the same ideals and motives…_

_...Every current and past tenant of the Boarding House on Plank Street was located and interrogated concerning their awareness of the deplorable actions of Demetrius Playfoot and his associates Alga Osgood and John Batch. While records of the interrogations remain with the Craftian police, it is theorized that all residents were tortured for the crime of neglecting to report the suspicious actions of the landlord Playfoot. All but thirteen of the residents were executed in Justice Square in the weeks following the burning of Playfoot, Osgood, and Batch. The thirteen residents who were found not guilty of enabling were imprisoned for life without allowance of visitors. The complete list of names is recorded below…_

_...To understand the motivations behind Demetrius Playfoot’s crimes is to understand the mind of a witch completely obsessed with his own power and progress. Unlike the delusional Osgood, who believed herself to be a vampire, Playfoot remained a witch to the day he was burned. His artifacts and resources were burned along with his Boarding House, after the Honourable Inspector Glass reported that ‘The entire place is one of the Devil...It is a stain upon the city that may never be clean.’ Police associates recall that ‘His face was like one that had seen Hell, and it was more terrifying to imagine what might be in the House than to recall the tormented bodies’…_

Strife flipped back to the front of the book and checked its publication date. It was over 150 years old and certainly the oldest history he had found that mentioned blood magic. He closed the book carefully and set it in the bag that held the klein star and the nether stars. 

Parv hadn’t left any mutilated bodies lying around Craftia yet. At least it was unlikely that the Magic Police would start a massive manhunt for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: This chapter was not exactly planned. The stuff in the book was written _ages_ ago, but I didn't know where I would end up putting it. It's a bit convenient that Strife just _happens_ to pick it up, but I liked the writing. I wanted it to be in the story, and this was the best place for it.


	74. Alsmiffy, seventh day, eighth hour

“Why are you pretending to be nice to me?” Nano asked distrustfully.

She and Alsmiffy were standing on the reinforced glass sunroof of a very old water treatment plant on the outskirts of Craftia. Behind Nano, the city’s eighteen meter high wall towered over the abandoned industrial park. Several of the factories located here were still in occasional use, although the machinery broke down frequently. Such buildings were generally owned and operated by small companies that were down on their luck and desperate for a chance to become competitive in the markets. Every factory here was pitifully outdated. H.A.T. Corp had considered purchasing several of the discarded, broken factories years ago, but there was next to nothing they would have been able to gain from them. 

With the setting sun at his back, filtering through the thick smog in the nearby industrial parks, Alsmiffy stood a short distance away from a large hole smashed into the glass roof. Whatever had broken it had also torn through a fair amount of the wire netting that had been woven into the glass. He might have considered jumping down into the hole to explore the dead factory’s internal workings, even if it was mainly for the sake of ignoring Nano’s question, but it was getting hard to ignore her loaded glare.

“Nice?” Smiffy repeated and scoffed.

“Yes. You spent all day with me _and_ got me food.” Nano said forcefully . She crossed her arms and leaned against the side of the large rusted water tank that had been empty for years. “What’s this all about? You don’t act nice to me unless you want something. Even then, you’re never this nice.”

Smiffy thought back to the events of the day and was started to realize that he actually might have been acting kindly to Nano. Shit. He would have to change things back to normal soon, or Nano would want to return to the tower before Ross, Trott, and Lomadia got a chance to properly examine over the source of her infection. Also, she might get the wrong impression from all of this. 

“Are you so bored and lonely that you’ve been imagining your bosses are being nice to you?” Smiffy teased.

Nano gagged and strolled away from the water tank. “No! Also, you’re not my boss. I’m just tolerating you, Ross, and Trott because doing so gets me what I want.” She wandered over to the far end of the glass window in the roof and stared down into the darkness below. 

“Explosives.” Alsmiffy supplied. Nano met his gaze and her face split into an impish smile. A few faint purple particles drifted around her eye, which was starting to look much paler than her other eye. 

Smiffy fought the urge to ask if Nano’s creation or collection of the infectious purple magic sludge was related to her interest in dangerous things. Maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t. Smiffy himself certainly had delved into magic for the sake of explosives. Or perhaps he developed his interest and obsession for them while he was exploring the vast possibilities of thaumaturgy. If Nano was smart enough to explore new territories in magic and she was left alone for long periods of time, it might not be so surprising that she arrived at this situation.

Although, she wasn’t aware of the full extremity of her choices yet. Then again, Smiffy could only guess at how serious this was, based off the reaction he had seen from the infection late last night.

“When do I get to blow up the city?” Nano asked, breaking Smiffy out of his thoughts.

“Whenever Trottimus says the time is right,” he said with a shred of bitterness. It was a shame that Trott kept telling him to wait. He really wanted to blow up things with someone who loved the destruction as much as he did. One of the things he allowed himself to admit that he liked about Nano was how she agreed that the creation and use of large explosions were acceptable utilizations of H.A.T. Corp resources. 

Nano groaned and kicked something off the roof. It fell to the ground with a dull crack. “Fuck Trott.”

“Already did,” Alsmiffy replied instantly. Nano shot him a disgusted look, and he just smirked back. “What, you want to do him too? Get in line, because Ross is next. You’ll have to fight both of us for the chance to fuck him after Ross.”

“Ugh,” Nano groaned. She stomped on the far corner of the glass roof and a portion of the glass cracked. “I don’t need to hear about your randy polyamorous sexual exploits.”

“Could be a bigger poly though,” Smiffy suggested, grinning. Nano shook her head in disdain. Hazy reddish light from the sunset glanced off her skin and illuminated the traces of purple on her face. As Alsmiffy watched, the magical lines recoiled at the natural light and retreated to the skin between her ear and neck, which were well shadowed. 

Nano squinted when the light strayed into her eyes and moved out of it. The threads slowly crept back to their original location on the side of her face, although they left thin lines in the space they occupied for those brief seconds.

“What are you staring at?” Nano demanded. Alsmiffy busied himself with adjusting his thaumic harness. He reached down and picked up off the ground two rocket launchers which he had snatched from Trottimus’ storage room in H.A.T. Corp. Straightening up, he threw one at Nano. She dove forwards, stepping on the unstable glass roof, and managed to catch it before it hit the ground.

“You still have enough fuel in that jetpack?” Smiffy asked. “Since it’s getting dark, the mobs are going to be coming out soon. I want to see if I can make a supercharged creeper if I hit it with lightning.”

Nano’s face lit up. She checked the ammunition in the rocket launcher and grinned. “Twenty each?” Then her expression turned wary again. “Are you trying to distract me? What were you--”

“Fuck you then, you little witch, give me back the rocket launcher.” Smiffy interrupted. “I’m charging you for breathing on that thing. It’s Trott’s.”

“Oh yeah?” Nano said, playfully dangerous. She slid her hands up and down the muzzle of the rocket launcher. “Do I have to clean my fingerprints off it too? Is he going to be mad at you for that? Does that mean he won’t fuck you after Ross?”

Smiffy charged across the glass roof, his steps causing it to crack more. Laughing and shrieking, Nano powered up her jetpack and flew upwards out of his path, just in time. She hovered above the water tank and gradually regained control of herself, although Smiffy could tell she was itching for a fight. He turned on his thaumic harness and chased after her, shedding electrical sparks in every direction. It made his hair stand on end and his pulse race. He couldn’t get enough of it.

Nano flew over the wall and dropped low once she had cleared it. Alsmiffy maintained his altitude and soared up out of her way when Nano predictably tried to shoot upwards and collide the end of her rocket launcher into his thaumic harness. She laughed and flew off towards the Dark Forest in the distance. Alsmiffy followed, only sparing a short glance in the direction of her tower.


	75. Sips, seventh day, eighth hour

Sips threw out his arm to stop Yardley as soon as the scientist started reaching for the potted orchids. The lemon tree and the oversized camellia bush were nice in the new company garden, which had been converted from a fountain in the rear of the atrium. With the addition of a few smaller plants around the base of the tree, it would look even better, but the tiny orchids that Silvia had brought clashed horribly with the camellias. He told himself that he didn’t care about the appearance of the new garden; that as long as it concealed the magic in the ashes meticulously incorporated into the dirt. If anything, he should be happy that Silvia brought back magical flowers.

But they looked terrible. They smelled annoying. Some of them _sparkled_. If Sips had to look at them every time he was at this main headquarters branch, he would end up losing his mind.

“I hate the little flowers,” Sips explained. He glared Yardley, whose lab coat was smudged with dirt from the flowers. Quickly, the researcher backed away and left the orchids where they were.

Beside Sips, Silvia was almost flailing. She stammered, “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll get something else.” She dashed behind Sips and knelt down in front of the orchids. “Mr. Yardley, can you help me carry these back to the car? Or maybe your department?”

“These are from Nilesy and Lomadia’s shop?” Sips asked. Silvia nodded her head frantically. “Keep them here, but get more of whatever the big bush is when you go back to their place tomorrow.” He returned his attention to the mass of white flowers, each framed by dark green leaves. It was a bonus that these flowers did not emit a strong fragrance. The scent of the So Limited That It Never Had A Chance To Be Sold Out Before It’s Gone Sips Co. fertilized earth--dense and slightly sweet--overwhelmed the flowers and blended with the smell of faint ripe fruit from the lemon tree. 

Also, the flowers themselves were quite pretty, while not overly complex and colorful. White was the best color he could have hoped for. Much better than the rainbow of orchids. 

“The camellias?” Silvia asked. Sips was snapped out of his admiring trance.

“Yeah,” Sips said. “Get more of them. Same color, or a similar color.”

“What about these?” Silvia held up one of the potted orchids and Sips rolled his eyes.

“I don’t care,” he sighed. “Give them to the Research and Development teams. I don’t want to see them.”

Yardley returned with a small wooden cart. Sips hadn’t noticed he had left. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Silvia and Yardley packed the pots onto the cart, then they began pushing it carefully out of the atrium, to a side door. Sips didn’t care where they ended up. As soon as they left, he was back to traipsing around the garden. 

His peace was short-lived however, as a bodyguard soon walked up to him and halted a short distance away. “Mister Sips,” the bodyguard said politely.

“What is it?” Sips turned his back on the flowers to face his bodyguard. 

“A guest wanting to see you, sir.”

Sips frowned. “Did they make an appointment?” Silvia hadn’t mentioned any appointments for today. He had taken care of most of those the day before. Plus, he had Silvia reschedule several of his plans so that he could have Aquilla check the garden for the strength of the residual witchery. She was due to arrive at any minute. 

“No, this guy’s with the police,” the bodyguard said. He clenched one of his hands tightly and some of the knuckles cracked. “I can turn him away if you’d like, but--”

“No, go ahead and let him in,” Sips said, waving his hand.

The bodyguard left his side, allowing Sips a brief moment to prepare himself. Everything would be fine. He seriously doubted the police had dug up any dirt on him. Since he started expanding his special ingredient list from zombie bodies to human bodies, he had taken cautious steps to hide his tracks. Nobody would think of going into the sewers looking for missing bodies, and even if they did, it would take a miracle for that person to locate Strippin or Benji. Those two, plus Lomadia and Nilesy, were the only ones who knew that Sips used bodies in some of his fertilized earth products. Who would ever guess that simple dirt could be hiding such a dark secret anyway?

He had Aquilla to remove all traces of mana from dead witches and mages. The only truly incriminating evidence was this dirt in front of him now. But only a mage with a lens of magical revelation would be able to detect the magic in the dirt. 

There were only two Magic Detectives left. What were the odds of one of them showing up at Sips’ door? Surely they had better things to do than investigate a dirt production company.

His bodyguard was returning now, with a young man following closely behind him. As soon as they were close enough for Sips to identify the uniform, he raised an eyebrow in surprise.

Oh shit. That _was_ the Magic Police. Did he make a mistake somewhere?

The man marched straight up to Sips. His bodyguard moved to stand behind Sips and crossed his arms to appear more intimidating, as if he wasn’t scary enough already.

“Hey, Detective. What can I help you with?” Sips asked pleasantly. He began thinking up ideas for how he was going to draw the Magic Detective away from the garden before he noticed anything suspect. For now, he could act normal and offer his hand to the detective.

The policeman took Sips’ hand and shook it. Sips felt brief stinging pain in the center of his palm, like something sharp had just pricked it. When the detective let him go, Sips furtively examined his hand. There was a trace amount of dirt smeared on his skin. What the hell. How unsightly. Why didn’t Silvia tell him about it? Sips clasped his hands behind his back and rubbed the dirt off.

Meanwhile, the detective frowned. He had an oddly distant expression in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth were turned down. He shook his head and resumed eye contact with Sips. “I’m Detective Sjin with the Magic Police. I’ve been investigating a certain disappearance.”

“Oh have you?” Sips said smoothly. The dirt should be off now. He folded his hands over his abdomen and smiled with all of his charm. “Tell me about it.”

Sjin blinked. He was distracted by something again. What stunning professionalism. “Uh. It’s... the disappearance of my former coworker, who retired from the Magic Police a few months ago. I think she may have been killed by a witch cult called The Delighted and--”

“Whoa,” Sips said, holding up a hand to stop him. That was a lot of surprising detail.

Sjin looked confused as well. He twisted his hands in his uniform and stared blankly at the garden for a long moment. “I--I didn’t mean to say that much, I--”

“You said a witch cult?” Sips asked. He was still intrigued by the detective’s initial willingness to share details about his case that were likely highly sensitive. 

“Yes,” Sjin replied immediately. His face twisted in regret. “No. Why did I--”

“Listen, uh,” Sips interjected. The detective stopped talking. “Sjin, right?”

“Yes, that’s my name.”

Sips stepped away from the garden. “Why don’t you come on over to one of the meeting rooms?” He pointed it out, a door closer to the end of the atrium that connected with the front doors. “This thing sounds like a raw topic for you and, I don’t know, you might be a little emotional about it. We can have some privacy in there.” Sjin turned to see the room that Sips had indicated.

Aquilla took that moment to enter the atrium through the back door. Her glasses glinted with the unnatural green light that indicated that the spectacles were made from a rare material that revealed all traces of magic and suggested the origins. At first, she was heading towards the garden. Then she saw who Sips was talking to. She froze for a split second and darted out of sight behind the large camellia bush.

“Sure,” Sjin said. 

“My bodyguard will escort you inside,” Sips said. “I just need to take care of one quick thing before I can meet with you. You did sort of show up unannounced.”

Sjin narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to hide something?”

“No.” Sips chuckled. “Just wait in the meeting room. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Amazingly, the detective followed his bodyguard across the atrium into the meeting room. Sips waited until the door closed behind them to circle around the garden to find Aquilla, still cowered behind the camellias.

“How’s it look?”

Aquilla shook her head. She gazed up at Sips, but looked away just as rapidly. “Ah. Well, there’s not much magical trace in the dirt anymore. But there’s something similar in the Magic Detective. And…”

“And what?”

“Now there’s a trace of it on you. In your hand, Mr. Sips.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sick since Monday. Not fun.


	76. Rythian, eighth day, third hour

Alex Parvis was not Rythian’s type. Sure he was attractive and confident and had a voice like a succubus, but Rythian had never found those qualities particularly desirable. He could never imagine himself doing anything remotely intimate with this young man who virtually dripped with sexuality. 

Besides, he had more important things to do. He was sure that the only reason he followed Parvis down to his magic basement was to observe the blood mage at work. Truly, the altar was overwhelmingly powerful; it filled the cold basement with a stifling humidity, the acrid stench of fresh death, and pulses of unkind energies. As Rythian backed away from the display, Parvis reveled in it. The red markings on his arms radiated through chilling shadows curling around the altar. 

Parvis didn’t control the magic. But the way he handled it--delicate enough to show his love yet with all the roughness of a delighted addict--it was mesmerizing. Rythian wouldn’t want to see blood magic being used in any other way.

He could see why a practical man like Will Strife was so hopelessly attached to Parv. Especially now, in the early hours of the morning, as Rythian watched sunlight failing to break through Craftia’s pollution. Reclining on one half of the other man’s bed, Rythian was thankful Parv was crazy enough about Strife that he left plenty of space between them before falling asleep last night. He traced lines on his scarf as he thought back to the events of yesterday afternoon and evening with a tight frown. 

He leaned off the bed to pick up the scarf and wind it around his face. Woken by the movement, Parv rolled over, saw Rythian partially covered by his sheets, and rolled back to slide off the bed with all the grace of a housecat. Rythian didn’t watch. Parvis might be somewhat attractive at his altar, and maybe he was somewhat sexy in bed, but Rythian wasn’t interested in much beyond that. It had been a long time since anyone touched him, or looked at him like he was beautiful.

Now that Rythian was thinking of that...

“There’s someone I want to see,” Rythian said abruptly. A short distance away, Parv had progressed to his sizable dressing room. He had left the door open, but thankfully, Rythian couldn’t see him anymore. Not that he would have been looking.

“Yeah? Who’s that?”

Rythian leaned forwards to rest his chin on his palm. He pinched the edge of the scarf, considering how to ask a favor of the man who had sex with him, a near-stranger, yesterday afternoon. No, that shouldn’t have anything to do with this, right? Strife was prepared to help him, and Parv was obviously interested in continuing some sort of friendship with him. Beyond the apparent sexual benefits, the blood mage expressed interest in Rythian’s magic before they started getting touchy.

“His name is Ravs.” Rythian finally said. The name struck an odd longing that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for months. He bit his lip and struggled to force back the memories of crying about Lalna over the third and fourth drinks at Ravs’ pub, the memories of hugging Ravs and wishing it was Lalna, the memories of pouring out his heart to his best friend until he was so desperate for affection that... 

Rythian pressed on, hoping to stop his mind before he remembered the guilt. “He’s an old friend of mine. He owns a pub at the edge of the general commerce district. I stayed with him back when I was avoiding the Magic Police.” 

And avoiding having to face that _fucking bastard_ who reported him to the authorities as some twisted game with Rythian after he couldn’t face him for a week. It wasn’t Rythian’s fault. Lalna was the one who started it all. Everything would have been fine if he wasn’t so obsessed with Rythian’s Ender magic.

Parv walked past the open door of the dressing room, only half-clothed. He lounged in the frame and drummed his fingers against the wooden surface of the door. “Why? Want to reassure him that you’re fine or something?”

Rythian hadn’t thought of that. He just wanted to see his old friend again. “He might have some of my old magical gear from before,” he said instead. “I had a few spares that I kept at his place. Nothing too complicated, but it’s a pain to try to get them back.”

Parv eyed Rythian closely. He smirked and crossed his arms over his bare chest. “You fucked him too. That’s what this is about? You want to go back and remember your old lover?”

Rythian groaned and ran his hands through his hair. Doing so made him aware of the ridiculous bedhead he was sporting, and he combed his fingers through his hair a few more times to fix it. “I’m not going over there to have sex with him,” he said, although his defense felt weak. Stupid sexy Alex Parvis and the stupidly awesome sex they had yesterday. “I want to get my things back so I can kill Lalna.”

Parv left the door, finally, and Rythian weighed the pros and cons of following him into the dressing room so he could leave the bed. 

“You can use some of my weapons,” Parv offered. “I would have to bind you to the altar, but I’ve got some powerful--”

“No thanks,” Rythian said, a little forcefully. “I’m fine with my own magic. It’s something I’m familiar with.”

“Fine.” There was a brief pause, then Parvis added, “Will might have some things at his company that he can give you. Oh, I should see him soon. I didn’t get to kiss him after work…” he trailed off and Rythian could hear him moving around in the dressing room at a much faster pace.

Rythian was fed up. He pushed the sheets away from his naked body and left the bed behind for the dressing room. Parv didn’t spare him a second glance when he entered, probably consumed with thoughts of his lover. A pile of discarded shirts rested on the floor at his feet, and he was tugging a plain black shirt on. Ignoring the buttons and leaving his hairy chest bare, Parv left Rythian in the room and dashed out.

If Parv wanted to kiss Strife awake, or do anything else to Rythian’s host, he was more than welcome. Rythian took his time picking out something from Parv’s massive selection. At least Parvis liked dark colors. It wasn’t hard to find muted gray, charcoal and off-white among the monochromatic black and white side of the dressing room.

He was barely a minute out of Parv’s room when a maid approached him with a small knowing smile. Rythian experienced a pang of nausea, realizing that Parvis likely brought back many other people to share a night with--or a week?--despite being moderately committed to Strife. 

And now the asshole was prancing off to Strife again. What was wrong with him?

“Good morning, sir,” the maid said. The knowing smile faded, but it didn’t make Rythian feel any better about the situation. As soon as he could move back into Ravs’ home, he could leave these two lovers to deal with their unusual relationship. The maid kept talking, interrupting Rythain’s thoughts. “Master Strife brought something back for you when he returned from inspecting his company yesterday. Titus said it was to be delivered to you as soon as you arose.”

“Okay,” Rythian said slowly.

She chuckled. “Sorry. I realize you must be hungry for breakfast as well. If you wait in one of the lounges, or perhaps the library, I’ll bring you something to eat and Titus will be along soon with the item from Master Strife.”

“Then I’ll take whatever lounge is closest,” Rythian offered. The rooms and corridors in this place were a maze and there was little point being given more directions to navigate it when he was hoping to leave soon. 

The maid led him several doors down and opened a small lounge. This one was blessedly simple, with its main attraction being a gargantuan painting of an aerial view of Craftia. Rythian drew close to it, scrutinizing the fine details. Right away, he picked out the approximate location of his old home, and Ravs’ pub shortly after. Individual buildings were difficult to make out, but it was far easier than trying to pinpoint them on a normal-sized map.

Rythian was left alone in the room with plenty of time to examine the map before there was a soft knock on the door. A second passed, then Titus entered, holding a small lumpy package wrapped in red cloth and a long black ribbon. 

“Master Strife should be with you shortly,” Titus informed Rythian.

Rythian shrugged. “If he’s busy, then he shouldn’t be pressured to rush for my sake. I’ll be fine on my own for the morning.”

“Very well, sir. He left this for you.” He handed the package over to Rythian.

At once, Rythian could feel a soft magical thrum from the package. Besides the comforting pulse of his lifestone, he could sense a magical presence that he had not felt for months. Still, he wouldn’t have mistaken that for anything. 

“Thank you,” Rythian said quickly. Titus returned to the door to leave.

“If you require anything, simply ask Genevieve when she returns.”

“I’ll do that.” Rythian held himself back from closing the door in the man’s face. Titus was perceptive, however, and he left Rythian alone without another word. 

Rythian pulled the cloth aside and breathed a deep sigh of relief at the sight of his lifestone, paired with a glittering star secured inside a glass jar. He sat down on one of the chairs in the lounge, cradling the stone and star in his hands. The stone was still on its cord, so he fastened that around his neck first, under the scarf, then turned his attention to the star.

Despite the length of time he spent without one of these, Rythian knew this one was far more powerful than his old ones. Perhaps even stronger than two of his old stars. After removing it from the jar, Rythian admired the magical aura of the star for a long moment. It felt _so_ good to have one of these again. He picked the black ribbon off the floor to thread it through the tiny hole in the star, although reaching for the ribbon also brought his attention to a small note written in smudged ink on the inside of the red cloth.

Rythian took the cloth off the floor as well.

_Your friends don’t want to share much info about themselves._   
_They seem eager to get you out of Craftia._

His eyes lingered on the word ‘friends.’ Then he brushed the cloth aside, threaded the ribbon through the klein star, and fastened it around his neck. These people weren’t his concern. Ravs was his main concern. 

No, not Ravs… _Lalna_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, it was a longer wait. I got horribly sick for the entirety of the first week of the new term.
> 
> Besides that, this is one of the weirdest ships(?) I've written. Not the weirdest. But it's up there.


	77. Ross, eighth day, fourth hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey.  
> Are you guys familiar with Carpal Tunnel Syndrome? Apparently it can happen to writers who use the computer to do all their work. 
> 
> I'm so sorry for the long wait. I hate making people wait for these chapters.

“I’m losing business, doing this for you,” Trottimus grumbled. He stood stiffly in front of the glass tank, arms crossed. Lomadia had just punched him lightly on the shoulder for pacing when they had arrived not long ago. Ross, meanwhile, was standing away from the tank. He held a steel hose in his hands connected to a heavy canister of fuel on his back, made last week by Alsmiffy. Ross found it while raiding his alchemy lab for explosive or flammable materials that could be used to destroy the purple magic slime. 

Meanwhile, in the presence of Ross, Trott, and Lomadia, the violet substance they had dubbed “flux” had solidified and condensed into an opaque skull-sized orb. It floated in the center of the tank, unmoving. Trott had hastily constructed a cover for the glass container not long after it apparently tried to murder him. To their knowledge, the purple sludge hadn’t broken through it. It emitted a constant violet light and a sickly magical aura that made Ross cling tightly to the flamethrower as a form of comfort.

“Oh, please,” Lomadia said, rolling her eyes at Trott. “Your business is fine. You can afford to take a few days--”

Trott rudely interrupted her. “You’re lucky that Crystal’s willing to take time off work for this. We can’t give her unpaid leave--”

“You owe that poor overworked girl a vacation.” Lomadia cut in. “Give her a bonus.”

Trott stomped up to Lomadia, and she glared evenly back. Ross glanced from the flux crystal to the pair who appeared to be ready to start a fight over their _intern_ of all people. He stepped in between Lomadia and Trott, pushing Trottimus backwards with the tip of the flamethrower’s hose. Trott moved backwards, but he refused to break eye contact with Lomadia.

Ross sighed. “Come on, guys. We need to take care of this flux now. I don’t want to wait for Nano to wake up and have to explain what we’re doing here.”

Trottimus shrugged. “Smiffy’s up there with her, isn’t he?” On his right, Lomadia laughed softly. Trott ignored her and said, “He can keep her--”

“Occupied?” Lomadia supplied coyly.

Trott stopped talking and scoffed. He turned back to the glass tank that housed the unwanted magical crystal. Ross stepped closer to Trott and took a shaky hand off the flamethrower. He brushed his hand gently against Trott’s tense shoulder, causing him to flinch. Ross took another step to his side and pulled Trott against his body, then bent his neck down and kissed Trott’s temple. Slowly, the shorter man began to relax.

Lomadia tutted. “I agree with you on that, Ross. The sooner this is gone, the better. We can explain it all to Nano later. She’ll thank us for this, eventually.”

Trott gazed at the flux crystal with a tight frown. “I wish we could have gotten some kind of sample when it was still a liquid.” He nodded back at Lomadia. “You and Nilesy could have analyzed it or something. Figure out how it works, or what it’s doing to Nano.”

Ross bit his lip, refraining from mentioning that Trott was smart and resourceful enough to accomplish that too. Leaning against the stack of boxes behind him, there was a small step ladder. Ross retrieved it and set it up a short distance away from the tank.

Lomadia moved to one end of the tank. “Trott, you take the other side.” Trott nodded and took position, reaching up to grasp the edge of the lid.

Ross climbed up onto the ladder and aimed the nozzle at the end of the hose toward the center of the lid. Directly below, the crystal still shimmered and let out that eerie sensation. Ross shuddered and caught Trott’s eyes.

“Ready.”

Trott and Lomadia lifted the lid. Ross aimed the flamethrower straight at the magical ball, squeezed the firing trigger and ignition trigger simultaneously, and let loose the powerful stream of the highly flammable liquid Alsmiffy had admitted to working on for weeks. It burst out as a narrow stream of fire, before morphing into a roaring ball of flames when it hit the flux crystal.

The purple orb rippled upon contact with the fire and relinquished some of its crystalline qualities. It expanded in size and threw out liquidy tendrils, reaching for Trott and Lomadia. The two backed off. Lomadia quickly retrieved a protection charm out of her pocket, shaped as a small animal’s jawbone on a black string. It emitted a soft blue light that burned the tendril as soon as it tried to push past the barrier of the witch’s charm.

Meanwhile, Trottimus snatched his golden pistol from his side. Without hesitation, he shot the entire clip into the tendril that was advancing on him. The bullets appeared to have little effect as they sank into the slimy magical abomination. Trott was reloading already, attention fixed on the tendril. Ross twisted on the ladder so that the flames raced across the fluxy arm reaching for Trott. As the fire engulfed it, each bullet embedded within it started to explode. The wounded tendril writhed and retreated to the magical object, vainly failing to bat away the flames that Ross continued to fire at it.

He concentrated the stream of flames on the main section of the fluxy mass of magic. He ground his teeth, squeezed the triggers harder, and willed the flames to burn hotter, stronger. The orb tried sending out tendrils one more time, but those quickly burned in the flames. 

“It’s working,” Lomadia said, her voice faint over the rush of the fire and the racing heartbeat that pounded in Ross’ ears. It was getting intensely hot in the lab, but Ross paid it no mind until sweat trickled down into his eyes. He shook his head and blinked hard to rid himself of it. His hands remained steady on the flamethrower’s control triggers, as if he were glued to the contraption.

Trott had reloaded his pistol and drew nearer to the purple orb again. He smashed a hole in the glass tank and took aim, narrowed eyes leering at the crystal. Lomadia held her protection charm in her hand, raised close to her moving lips; her eyes were focused on Trottimus. Just out of reach of the inferno that engulfed the crystal, Trott prepared to shoot at the menace, as it desperately threw out scorched tendrils which reached viciously for Trott through the broken glass opening.

Trott pulled the trigger, striking the tainted ball at near point blank range. Although the path between the barrel and the crystal was minimal, Ross could see a faint blue light surrounding each round as they cracked and shattered the orb. Ross leaned closer to the opening of the glass tank and watched carefully as the fire slowly ate away at each of the pieces.

Lomadia approached the hole Trott made in the tank and drew a potion out of her pocket. She flung the glass bottle straight at the shards and it broke on contact with the floor of the tank, spilling an orange liquid that instantly caught the flames and burned, glowing and hot like freshly uncovered lava. The purple substance let out a final uncomfortable ripple of magic as it disappeared.

Ross let go of the triggers and blinked away the blind spots in his vision where the brightness of the flames made its searing imprint on his eyes. He took one hand off the flamethrower hose and wiped some of the sweat away from his eyes. Trott and Lomadia backed away from the empty tank.

They didn’t have time to rejoice. As the trio exchanged happy expressions, the glass tank let out a chilling inhuman shriek. In a fraction of a second, the tank splintered into tiny shards and Ross just had barely enough time to leap off the ladder and barrel into Trott. The two crashed to the floor of the lab next to Lomadia just before the glass shards flew everywhere, making shrilling clinks as they ricocheted against the walls of the lab. 

Ross peeked up just in time to see the shards sink into the stone walls. Each stone touched by one of the shards of glass vibrated for a few seconds, then crumbled into pebbles and stone dust.

“Watch out!” Lomadia shouted. She rose shakily from the floor and reached down to pull Ross and Trottimus to their feet. The tower was going to collapse and crush them if they remained. She yanked them forward as she rushed toward the shattered window behind the location where the glass tank once resided. 

As the tower started to topple and demolish the remains of the lab, Lomadia clasped Trott and Ross’ hands tightly as they made their escape through the window. Hearing the telltale sounds of massive architectural destruction behind him, Ross flinched, tightening his hold on Lomadia’s hand, and braced himself for impact with the ground below.


	78. Ridgedog, eighth day, seventh hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content warning: dead animals, animal zombies, unethical practices on dead animals**
> 
> Cool things are about to happen.

“Ridge, I feel like someone needs to say this to you: I think your zombie project is getting out of hand. It hasn’t reached majorly epic proportions yet, but I just… well, you should know.” Verbal chuckled directly behind Ridge, startling the larger man into looking away from the order he was filling out. He laid down his pen and craned his neck to meet Verbal’s mocking eyes.

“What?” Ridge said incredulously. He waved his hand outwards, pointing out the newly constructed cage that took up half of the tower’s volume in front of Verbal and himself. The ugly metal structure couldn’t be missed, even if Verbal was blind. Inside, the zombie abominations let out short guttural screeches nearly every second, like clockwork. 

“It’s just a few birds. They’re not going to hurt anyone.” Verbal raised an eyebrow, smirking. Ridge sighed and continued. “And some other things, but those aren’t the majority--”

At that precise moment, something small and shining like a piece of metal flew past Ridgedog’s face and clattered against the bars of the zombie cage. Ridge leaned past Verbal and rolled his eyes exasperatedly when he saw Bebop aiming his prototype cannon in Ridge’s direction. Now having been spotted, Bebop lowered his arm and shrugged with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You’re shooting at me?” Ridge said, unbelieving. He pushed past Verbal and waited for Bebop’s inevitably asinine explanation. 

Bebop opened the panel on his arm and attempted to flip it upside down so he could shake out a clattering empty shell. It fell to the floor with a soft metallic ding and rolled away. “What?” His tone indicated that Ridgedog should have expected him to shoot at him. Bebop tapped his arm and the metal-on-metal contact created a pleasant ringing sound. “I ran out of ammunition, so I figured I could improvise. It was just the spare key to the cage.”

Ridge’s eyes widened and he spun around to locate and snatch said key off the floor of the tower before the zombies noticed it. He hadn’t conducted enough tests on them to know how smart they were yet, and he wasn’t about to start taking chances. They were safest in the cage, close enough to observe once he had the time, but distant enough to protect himself and his friends from zombie-inflicted injury.

Although, now that he thought about it, maybe he should have started with a small number of zombies. He could have figured out their capabilities and limitations, and _then_ made more once he knew what he was doing. Whoops. 

Hopefully that wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass.

“I don’t know about you guys, but that’s a bit more than a few birds to me,” Verbal said, walking closer to the cage. He tapped on the bars and a piercingly loud chorus of undead screams filled the immense tower room. The eerie sounds echoed off the iron bars and the stone walls, resonating and lingering for quite a long time. Ridge quickly came up with a simple concept for a coating he could put on the bars to muffle some of that metallic echo. He could get it in a spray bottle and seal the metal in no time, as soon as he made enough. Taking out a notebook, he scribbled down a note to remind himself.

Verbal stopped tapping at the cage, and the creatures within gradually began to calm down. It was full of zombie bird hybrids, most of whom had foreign animal parts grafted onto their bodies. The zombies were large and small, multicolored and drab, streamlined and bulky. Limbs and patches of fur from small rodents and other mammals were either sloppily or meticulously crafted onto the dead birds’ bodies. Most of Ridge’s designing was spontaneous, created from an idea spiralling out of control and holding his attention for an hour before being replaced by a wilder idea. Honestly, it was a gruesome form of art. For the first time since he obsessively dove back into necromancy, Ridge frowned at his handiwork.

Apart from the zombie sounds, the tower was silent for a moment. “I may have gotten out of hand,” Ridge admitted finally. 

“Keep doing it, man,” Verbal snickered. “It’s fucking hilarious. Make them bigger and creepier, because why the hell not?”

“Shame Benji can’t get us any humanoid bodies,” Bebop said. He was trying to fit something else into his arm judging by the rattling and whispered curses. Ridge left him alone for the time being. While impulsive, Bebop was unlikely to pull off anything similar to his shenanigans of the day before.

“There are plenty of bodies in Craftia,” Ridge said, pondering. “The human ones are disappearing faster than I would expect, but there’s more than enough animal bodies lying around that nobody wants. I guess it’s weird and disturbing messing around with them… but…” He blinked at the cage that he made out of magic the day before, and fully took in the amount of zombies. “What were we going to do with these again?”

Verbal shook his head and walked as close to the cage as he could, while still avoiding the stray wings and arms and tails that stretched ominously past the bars. 

“You’ve got a freak zoo here, Ridge,” Bebop said. He pointed upwards, where another dozen of Ridge’s creations rested in the rafters. All of these were at least twice the size of the largest ones on the ground of the tower room; their dead, empty eyes gazed down like the predators they were while alive. Half of them had large wings, agile bodies, and feline tails: Ridgedog’s attempts at making a griffon-like zombie. The sixth griffon zombie tried to tear his throat out once he revived its body, so he had pushed it into the cage and moved on to fusing birds of prey with dogs. Those too tried to tear out his throat, but some of them were almost cute, so Ridge justified making more than necessary.

“I was inspired--” Ridge tried to explain.

“You’ve been making nothing but these things since you made Bebop’s arm weapon!” Verbal pointed out. He paced back towards Bebop and scoffed at whatever the guy was trying to shove into his arm now. After rifling around in his pocket, he produced a handful of large modified shotgun shells that would certainly fit as ammunition. Bebop’s face filled with joy and he dropped whatever he was messing with to grab the shells. 

“Damn it, Verbal,” Ridge muttered under his breath.

“Nothing wrong with making zombies.” Verbal added. “If you want to make that your hobby...” he glanced from Ridge back to the cage and broke down snickering. As soon as he could speak with a modicum of clarity, he retracted his sentiment. “Well, actually, there’s a world of wrong with this, but it’s also cool in a sick way.”

Ridge laughed nervously. He shouldn’t have made so many of those predatory zombies. What the hell was he going to do with them all? “I should stop…”

“Oh, Ridge, I just remembered something,” Bebop said. He closed the panel and strode over to Ridge, staring directly into his eyes. His mouth and cheeks, made of slightly scarred flesh, formed a remarkably normal smile. Higher on Bebop’s face, his right eye was a softly glowing red light that was vastly different to the sky blue eye on his left. 

“What?” Ridge asked, before he got too distracted from gazing at the masterpiece before him.

“We had a visitor yesterday.”

“Oh yeah, Will Strife stopped by during the afternoon, when you were making your weird zombies.” Verbal supplied. He opened the door of the tower room and left, humming as he bounced down the stairs. Bebop followed after Verbal, so Ridge kept pace with him. The door slammed behind them, followed with a distant echo of zombie screams.

“Strife did? What did he want?” Ridge prompted. 

“He told us Parv is the person who’s been pretending to be a vampire,” Bebop said. Ridge paused in mid-step, mentally starting to connect Alex Parvis and his creepy grin to all of the vampire news he’d observed thus far. Parv wasn’t the first person Ridge would have suspected, but he fit into that role of vampire blood mage surprisingly easily in hindsight. Ridge wondered how much of a help Will had been to his lover, considering his stubborn refusal to publicly acknowledge magic’s importance in the balance of Craftia and the world. He knew that Strife was a hypocrite who used magic to achieve his scientific research and progression, but considered it too unstable to be reliable. Who did he think he was kidding?

Bebop, meanwhile, kept talking, “I thought that was weird of him to admit that sort of thing, but _classic_ Strife wants to make some sort of deal with us. He thinks the Magic Police are close to figuring it out, so he’s willing to share all of Parv’s blood magic findings with you, plus pay you anything within reason, to get them off his back.”

Ridge shook his head slowly. “The Magic Police aren’t the ones he should be worrying about.” He thought back to the night of the ball. The Magic Police were investigating the guests that night. If they let Strife and Parv go without raising a fuss--and any altercation would surely have made the news, due to Parv’s noble status--then the Magic Police didn’t suspect them yet. At the very least, they had no proof. 

However, as Ridge remembered that night, he recalled how Kirindave was the one who brought up the topic of the vampire. He might have been fishing for information… or a response. “Personally, I don’t trust Kirindave.”

“Oh, yeah,” Verbal said, a dozen steps ahead of Ridgedog and Bebop. “He sells people out to them, doesn’t he?” Verbal stopped and spun around with another manic smirk. “So what are we going to do about that?”

“Did you accept Strife’s offer?” Ridge asked. 

“That wasn’t my call to make--” Verbal said, as Bebop spoke over him, “Verbal wouldn’t let me.”

Ridge moved on, arriving at the ground floor and making his way towards the oversized vehicle storage rooms at the east wing of the mansion. Chandeliers and candelabras flared to life as he passed, illuminating the ground floor for Bebop and Verbal to follow. Doors and curtains opened on their own, flashing a soft golden color and dimming once Ridge was away. 

Ridge inhaled slowly and glowing golden magical specks rushed silently around his body. They collected at his feet and followed after him. 

“So…” Verbal’s voice was softer than usual. “We’re going to Strife’s place to tell him we’ll take the offer?”

“Nah,” Ridge said offhandedly. Another wave of golden flakes floated around his torso and came to rest near his wrists. “I’ll just take care of Kirindave now. Will Strife can owe me for this.”

The final set of heavy doors flew open before Ridge, and he entered the vehicle storage room. Verbal and Bebop were close behind him. Ridge entered the first machine on his left: a golden-orange painted motorized car with an open roof. He approached the driver’s side and released a handful of magical flakes to open the door. A heavy breeze rushed into the storage room and filled Ridge’s nose with the stench of fog, but also the heavy mineral aroma of a distant storm, ripe with lighting.


	79. Parvis, eighth day, seventh hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. A lot of shit happened. I feel awful about making you guys wait for so long.

“How do you know that your friend isn’t being watched by the Magic Police?” Parv asked, skimming through the news report. His fingers gripped the thin pages delicately, passing bolded titles that screamed silent words that ought to interest any well-informed citizen of Craftia. Parv read the titles, gave them half a second of thought, then moved on to the next title. His attention was initially seized by the main headline on the front page of the paper: _Magical Prisoner Released From Angel’s Keep_ , but it didn’t mention anything about Rythian. It was something about some woman being cleared of accusations of illegal necromantic rituals on ancient creatures. Upon review of the reports filed against her, she was found not guilty and the police requested her dismissal from the prison. A short public statement from the Warden of Angel’s Keep was enclosed in the report, but Parv got bored before he got around to reading it.

It wasn’t important in his life. Maybe in someone else’s, but Parv was unlikely to deal with that person, whoever they were. 

What _was_ important was Rythian’s restless state. He wanted to get out of Strife’s house and Parv couldn’t resent him for that, considering where Rythian was coming from. However, Parv was concerned for his safety if he left with only his revenge driving him. He assumed that Will shared those sentiments, if Parvis were to judge his intentions based on his interest in investigating the woman who hired them.

Parv only saw Strife for a brief time before his lover left to “take care of some important things, please stop kissing my neck, Parv” but he had left some information with him. That being: there was no significant information yet.

Meanwhile, Rythian’s pacing and insufferable brooding was close to wearing a hole in the polished wooden floor. At least he hadn’t run off yet.

“I don’t know,” Rythian finally admitted. “Maybe they’re watching Ravs. I--Lalna knew that Ravs and I were close friends. I stayed with him a few times while I was avoiding Lalna. But… it’s been over a year.”

Parv pulled a sheet of paper out of the news report and began folding it into a sloppy flower. He dropped the rest of the papers onto the armrest to his right. “Alright. So at least one member of the Magic Police knows you might visit his place after escaping prison. Even if it’s been a year since, he’ll still remember that. Who’s to say he hasn’t already contacted your old friend? Or he’s waiting there now? How many friends like him do you have, who would help you hide from the police?”

Rythian finally stopped pacing and sat down on a window seat. He glared at the ornate stained glass panels. “I’ll take that risk. If they show up, I’ll be ready for a fight.”

Parv left the partially completed flower in his lap and covered his mouth to keep from screaming or laughing out loud. This guy… this guy was _just_ out of prison! His magic was still recovering from the ordeal! And he thought he could take on the Magic Police? Ha!

Rythian was not thinking rationally. He was out of touch with the modern Craftia and didn’t care to learn more about the city and the police force before throwing himself into dangerous situations. 

Will would have a breakdown if he was here.

Parv must have appeared to be in thought, because Rythian had looked away from the window and was watching him expectantly. He really thought he had a chance? Or he just didn’t care if he was caught by the Magic Police again? Parvis stared back at him for a long moment, wondering how to break this to Strife later.

He brushed his folded paper art onto the floor and leaned back limply on his seat. “Fine. _I’ll_ go see your friend or your fuckbuddy or whatever he is and ask if the Magic Police has been watching him. Once I’m sure it’s safe, you can go and chat or bang each other or do whatever the hell you want.”

Rythian narrowed his eyes. “Why would you--”

Parv sat up straight again. Cutting Rythian off, he said, “You don’t have a choice about this. You want to go see him? You have to agree to these conditions. Number one: you stay here until I check out the place. Number two: don’t do anything stupid. Number three: don’t lead anyone to either me or Will. Number four: don’t go looking for the person who hired Will until he knows more about all that. And… Number five: you have to come back here after you’re done visiting this guy.” Parvis smirked and waited for Rythian’s answer.

“...I agree.”

~~~~~~

The pub was pleasantly warm and buzzing with light conversation among the afternoon crowd when Parvis entered. There was a lively crowd around a quintet of card players near the front of the pub, who were all preoccupied with the events of the game. The dealer was constantly snapping at them to hush, although they weren’t rowdy. Two middle aged barmaids shoved their way into the crowd with their arms full of drinks.

Parv avoided the crowd and the silent pair of elderly women having a silent but intense arm-wrestling match in a darker corner of the pub. He settled at the bar, two seats away from some greasy-looking guy crying next to three glasses of melting ice and amber liquid. Parv settled on the tall stool and ran a hand through his hair, hoping that nobody would recognize him. 

“Can I get you anything, dear?” This was a young woman with about a dozen bright blonde braids hanging at her back and a thin blue scarf around her neck. Normally, Parvis would have absolutely no problem talking with such a lovely lady, but he had other priorities. 

He still rested his chin on his palm, gave her one of his smiles that could charm Strife into a blush, and said, “I heard Ravs brews his own scotch. Is that just a hobby, or can I get a taste of that here?”

The bartender smiled back and tugged on her braids. “Oh, those are the stars here. I can start you out with one of the favorites, if you’d like.”

“Thank you.”

She grabbed a glass from the back wall and scooped a chunk of ice into it, then took a bottle out of the well. “Anything else, sweetie?” She winked at him as she expertly flipped the bottle upside down and poured the scotch into Parv’s glass. 

Parv tilted his head and gazed at the woman from under his lashes. “I’d like to see if I can speak with Ravs, if he’s around.”

The barmaid’s smile faded and was replaced by a slightly dismayed frown. “Well, he’s a bit busy--”

“I saw his old lover the other day,” Parv interrupted. His bartender still looked confused. “I thought I might come by and talk with him about it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? How do you know Ravs?”

Parv leaned forwards, locking his serious dark eyes with the young woman. “I don’t know Ravs, but I know his… well. Someone he used to share his bed with. That person wants to see him again. They were just nervous to see him in person. It’s nothing bad. But I guarantee you that Ravs wants to hear about this person”

“Oh… okay,” she trailed off and glanced to her side, towards a door set into the far end of the service area. “I guess I can tell him someone’s here to see him. Who should I say is asking for him?” She set the glass down on the bar in front of Parv and gave him a hopeful smile again. 

Parvis thought fast. “A friend of someone who… hates the police.”

The bartender chuckled. “Guess I’ll have to try harder next time you come in to get your name?”

Parvis winked at her. “Don’t give up.” 

She beamed at him, then left for the door. It opened with some effort, and Parv tried to look into the space beyond, but it was far darker than the pub. The bartender disappeared within. Parvis shrugged and took an experimental sip of the scotch. Heavy smoke aroma, much fuller-bodied than anything Micajah paired with dinner, and a faint sweetness that reminded Parv of one of the various addictive drugs he tried when he was younger. Parvis tasted it again and waited for that sweetness to linger.

Just as he was thinking about asking Titus or Micajah to buy as much of the scotch as possible from this pub, the lady bartender returned with a dark-haired muscled man in a ripped shirt. Several tiny white feathers were stuck in his hair and one of them floated away over the heads of the customers at the bar.

Parvis placed his glass down on the bar. “Hello. You’re Ravs?”

The man nodded slowly. He squinted at Parv. “Alex Parvis,” he observed, voice heavy with his accent.

“Yeah,” Parv said. Thankfully, the female bartender was out of hearing range, helping the barmaids prepare more drinks for the crowd watching the card game. He should have expected that he wouldn’t be able to keep his identity secret. After all, he spent most of his youth with Kogie trying to attract the attention of at least a third of Craftia. Some people don’t forget massive acts of vandalism committed by two teenagers whose high-class status protected them from most repercussions of the law.

“Why did ya wanna talk t’me?” Ravs asked. He picked up a different bottle from the well and poured himself a glass of a similar colored alcohol, without ice. 

Parv leaned close to Ravs, under the cover of picking up his own glass again.

“Rythian,” he whispered softly when his lips started brushing against the rim of the glass. “He’s staying with me and he wants to see you.”

Ravs’ eyebrows rose. He squeezed his glass and his eyes scanned the people nearby before he spoke. “He’s with you?” 

“I got him out,” Parv explained smugly. “I snuck into Angel’s Keep myself, and broke a hole down into his cell to spring him out. He’s been hiding away from the Magic Police with me.”

Ravs ignored the glass in front of him and took a long swig from the bottle. “I gotta say, it’s a relief hearin’ he’s okay. The other day, I had ta deal with fuckin’ Lalna trying t’get me to tell ‘im anything I hear about Ryth. I ain’t gonna do it, but I got worried that he ain’t with anyone, or he might be with someone I can’t trust.”

“You can trust me--”

Parv broke off when Ravs started glaring at him. He narrowed his eyes and stared right back, challenging the pub owner to accuse him. 

“Yeah, well, I guess that slime won’t suspect someone like ya. Ryth didn’t hang out with--”

“People like me?” Parv suggested.

“--many other people, really,” Ravs finished. He shook his head and Parv waited, wanting to hear more. “He and Lalna were screwed up. I mean, they still loved each other, as crazy as that was. They were fuckin’ insane for each other, and insane in how they showed it. I dunno… Ryth started leavin’ Lalna, just ta get ‘is head clear and , but it made th’idiot cry and drink himself to bits. And I guess Ryth liked seein’ Lalna so needy, so it became a whole thing.”

“So Rythian would leave Lalna just to see him desperate for him?” Parv asked cautiously.

Ravs shrugged. “That was one side of th’mess. I think Lal knew what was goin’ on, so he started bein’ more aggressive on Ryth. I told Ryth to fuckin’ end it, or try an’ fix it, but he didn’t wanna change anything. Like, him admitting somethin’ was wrong was losing to Lal.” Ravs took another long drink and scowled. “By the end of it, it was all about who could hurt th’other more. Ryth kept pissin’ Lal off and Lal went an’ got involved wit’ the Magic Police. That was overdoin’ it, but they were both overdoin’ it by then. I helped Ryth out as much I could, but he jus’ wanted to get back at Lal. And he got arrested.”

“Which brings us to now,” Parvis concluded. Distantly, he heard a faint ringing noise from a soundbox.

Ravs nodded gravely. “If Ryth wants ta come an’ see me, that’s great. But I think he’s gonna try and get ‘is old magic stuff. I ain’t got it anymore. I had ta hand it over to Lalna when Ryth was arrested. Listen,” Ravs suddenly leaned close to Parv. “You gotta keep an eye on ‘im. I’d hate seein’ him get messed up with Lal again.”

Parv drummed his fingers anxiously on the bar. “He’s been mentioning how much he wants to get revenge on Lalna.”

Ravs’ face fell. “As much as I want Lalna ta get what’s owed to ‘im, Ryth can’t do it right now. Lal’s crazy obsessed and mad strong. Ryth won’t stand a chance. He needs to cool his damn head. If…” Ravs broke off, thinking. “If I can talk with him, I’ll try an’ let him know. But, until he comes by, you can let him know he needs ta plan this revenge thing out, right?”

Parv was about to answer Ravs when the young lady bartender returned and tapped insistently on Rav’s shoulder. She flashed a glowing smile at Parv and said, “There’s a call here for a Lord Alex Parvis--”

Ravs moved away from the bar and pointed towards a spot on the back wall, where a very archaic soundbox was nestled between two wooden kegs. Parvis got off his seat and found the entrance to the service area. Ravs walked him over the the soundbox and Parv leaned close to the mesh-covered speaker on the soundbox. “Hello?”

Will’s voice came through the speaker, along with an annoying load of static. “Parvis, you are the _worst_. It took me _forever_ to find this number.”

“What do you need, Will?” Parv sang, enjoying the frustration in Will’s voice.

“Why did you run off with Rythian and not ask me first? You can’t just take him out into public without making some serious preparations, Parv! This is a serious--”

“Wait,” Parvis interrupted. “Isn’t Rythian still at home?”

“No, he’s not.” There was a pregnant pause. “Is he not with you?”

Parv didn’t know how to answer that.


End file.
